


It's Not Me, It's You

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, First Time, Season/Series 02, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sometimes, being too focused on the supernatural can leave a guy wide open to being bitch-slapped by the mundane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I know where this piece is headed, (And so do you, dear reader.) I'm just not sure how long it's gonna take me to get there. I'll post as I can. Please bear with.

  


“So what do you think?”  Dean asked, draining the last of his beer.  He looked around for a place to put the empty cup, but since every available surface was already littered with party detritus, he ended up just tossing it on the floor.  

Sam shook his head and took another sip of the God-awful punch some girl had handed him a few minutes back.  “If they’re here, they’re hiding really well.  I’ve checked every room upstairs and—“

“Nada,” Dean finished for him.  

“Nothing,” Sam agreed.  He raised his glass again, before remembering that his drink tasted like fruit flavoured Draino.  Problem was – he was just sodarn thirsty _._   After a split-second contemplation, Sam shrugged and took another gulp.  He was unable to prevent the grimace of disgust that followed the ill-conceived action.

“Same goes for the baseme—”  Dean cut himself off.  “What the _hell_ are you drinking, Sam?” 

“Dunno.”  Sam shrugged.  “It’s friggin’ awful, though,” he said, even as he went to drink more.

Dean swiped the cup from his brother’s hand and downed the last inch of foamy red punch himself. “Oh! Ugh!”  He spit into the now empty cup, but only saliva came out.  The liquid dregs had already splashed their way into his stomach.  “And you drank the whole glass?”  he asked his brother incredulously – once he’d managed to stop gagging and spitting that is.  “Dude, what the _fuck_?”

“S’just...” Sam swiped his tongue over his teeth, trying to find even a speck of saliva to wet his whistle with.   There was none.  “M’just sooo thirsty,” he whined.

“Uh, huh.” Dean’s forehead wrinkled.  “You could’ve got a different drink, Einstein.”  He shook his head at his brother’s apparent stupidity.  “Whatever,” he muttered, picking up the thread of their conversation.  “So anyway, if the coven isn’t here—”  He waved a hand around at the beautifully restored mansion turned elite sorority house.  “I’m officially outta ideas.  I mean, these chicks are _hot._   Young.  Rich.  Who’da thought it was all natural _?_ ”  He leaned in conspiratorially close to his brother and said, “So I’m thinkin’... it’s already past twelve, Sammy.  Nothing else to be done tonight.  We may as well stay and enjoy ourselves, right?”  Dean elbowed Sam’s ribs in that annoying ‘nudge-nudge-wink-wink’ way of his.  “Maybe break your world record for consecutive months without getting any?” he went on.    “Hmm?  Yeah?  Whaddya think?” 

Sam _thought_ his brother was a horn-dog asshole, but when tried to _sa_ y so he found his tongue welded to the roof of his mouth.  He looked around for something – anything – to ease the bizarre dryness in his throat and spied another half-full cup of craptacular red punch.  

Fuck it.   

He  only managed one swallow before Dean grabbed the cup from him, sloshing most of its contents over Sam’s wrist.   “Jesus Christ, Sam, you don’t even know whose this is!”

Sam had to laugh at that.  What they did for a living and Dean was horrified at the thought of a few measly germs?  Not to mention how many random mouths _he’d_ stuck his tongue into.  “Wow, Dean,” Sam scoffed.  “ You’re such a t—” 

‘Total hypocrite, _’_ is what Sam had been about to say, but a wave of vertigo made him gasp instead.

“Oh, hey now,” Dean said, catching his younger, but quite a bit larger, brother as he fell against him.  “You okay?”  

“Feel funny.” Sam leaned hard on Dean’s shoulder.   “Sick.” 

Dean huffed a sigh.  “Man, you can’t hold your liquor for shit.  It’s freakin’ _embarrassing."_

He started to weave through the college crowd, all but carrying his lame-o brother.  A pretty blonde – with a goddamned _perfect_ body – tried to hand Dean some punch on his way past.  “No thanks, sweetheart,” he said, regret heavy in his tone.  True, her punch sucked ass, but given the fact that she was insanely hot, Dean figured her lack of culinary skills was forgivable.  Hell, he’d have swilled the red sludge down all night if it meant getting a chance to hit _that_.  

But noooo, that wasn't gonna happen.  Why?  Well, because Dean’s  retardedly huge brother had the alcohol tolerance of a toddler – that’s why.  Go fig. 

When a guy behind Dean took the proffered cup, the blonde smiled, winsome and gorgeous.  “Happy Trails,” she murmured.  

“Dean,” Sam gasped.  

Dean’s head snapped around at the weird, breathy note in his brother’s voice.  He found Sam’s gaze riveted on the girl as if she was a glowing goddess of love, or something... Come to think of it, she kind of _did_ look like a glowing goddess of love.  Or sex.  

Damn it!  Sam was gonna owe Dean huge for this!   

"Wait."  Sam tried to halt their forward momentum but Dean was having none of it.   “Wait," he said again.  

“No, Sam.”  Dean growled, cutting Sam right the hell off. “There’ll be no wicked hot blondes for you.  Or for me either,” he bitched, under his breath.  

One night off.  Was that really too much to ask?

***

The muggy Florida night hit Sam like a stimulating slap upside his head. By the third riser of the mansion’s wide front steps, he was walking on his own.  He felt okay now.  Pretty darn good, in fact. 

Even so, Sam didn’t particularly want to go back inside– the humid, star-spangled darkness was just _way_ too mesmerizing to miss.  “Give it up, Dean,” he tossed over his shoulder, as he set out along the pebbled front path, eager to explore.  For once, evil lurking beasties were the farthest thing from his mind.  Good thing there were none around.  “You’re almost ten years older than most of those girls,” Sam pointed out.  “If you wanna know the truth, you’re starting to give off a real creepy old man vi—”  

The lanterns lining the pebbled path –  a dozen, at least – suddenly shot massive bursts of light out into the night sky. Perfectly silent, perfectly gorgeous, expanding explosions of glittering, rainbow-hued light.  The mocking words died on Sam’s tongue.   “Are you _seeing_ this?” he whispered instead.

Dean glanced around.  “I don’t see anything,” he said, his voice low and wary.  He went for the blade tucked into the small of his back asking, “Why?  What do you see?”

Sam grinned, an ear-to-ear, dimple-deep smile, and skipped ahead on the crunchy path – making Dean’s efforts at stealth seem rather friggin’ pointless.  And yes, he really did skip...as in, ‘la-la-la, I’m a merry schoolgirl’ skipped.   

“I see _radiance!_ ”  Sam sang, throwing his arms wide and twirling ‘round.  “Wonderful, beautiful, _amazing_ radiance!”  Then, in the very same full-body twist of motion, he fell to his knees and proceeded to heave up the entire contents of his stomach.  “Oh, God, somthing’s wrong with me,” he groaned, between miserable bouts of retching.

“Gee, do ya _think_?”  Dean crouched down beside his now nearly prostrate brother and his hand came to rest, feather-light, on the back of Sam’s neck, carelessly stroking.  

The caress made Sam shudder, even though he was still puking his guts out.  Any other time, he would have made a quick, but perfectly casual seeming, excuse to move away.  He was too ill to even consider moving right now, though.  

“No, I...” Sam tried to explain.  A runnel of saliva stretched from his bottom lip to the ground.  It shivered  and shone when he gave his head a frustrated shake.  Pretty spit string.  Sam blinked.  Blinked again   “No!” he said, shaking his head even harder.  “You don’t—”  Gag.  Cough.  Fuck!  Sam sounded completely unintelligible – even to himself.  What the hell?  He’d only had two drinks!  Sam made one more very concerted effort to tell Dean exactly that.  “Only had two—oh, fu—”  

Nope.  Intelligible just wasn’t gonna happen.  

God, how much more could he possibly puke?

***

“So what do you figure then – a spell?” Dean asked, having gotten the gist of Sam’s stuttered and gagged explanation.  Let it never be said that Dean Winchester wasn’t a fucking genius, ‘cause he so was.  “Crap,” Dean hissed.  “We gotta get get outta here, Sammy.  Now!”   

Oh, yeah, it was _way_ past time to retreat.  

Anxiety made Dean rough as he grabbed Sam’s arm to haul him upright.  If it _was_ a spell Sam was suffering from, then that meant that there _were_ , in fact, witches at the sorority house.  And that somehow both brothers had missed ‘em.  And that was bad, folks.  Because, _that_ meant that some serious power was being tossed around and they were out here in the front yard incapacitated and practically defenceless.  “Crap!” Dean said again.  And then once more, just for good measure.  “CRAP!”

Something rolled underneath Dean’s hand when it clamped around Sam’s wrist – something damp and chalky.  Taking a second they probably didn’t have, Dean turned to study his fingers in the uncertain light of the nearest lamp.  His fingertips appeared to be coated in the sticky-wet remains of a pale blue pill.  No wait.  There was more than one pill there.  Dean’s brow furrowed.  What the...  

Christ.  

Dean had the strong urge to smack his forehead.  He’d spilled that second cup of punch all over Sam’s arm.   “Shit,” he said, shoulders slowly unknotting.  “It’s okay, Sam.  It’s not a spell.”

“Then what?”  Sam asked, levering his ungainly self up off the ground.  Puke-fest ’06 appeared to be over, thank God.   His gaze – unfocused as fuck – slid around Dean’s face as if unable to latch on.  Dean swore when his saw his brother’s eyeballs actually quiver in their sockets.  “Drugs,” he said, the word clipped.

Sam swayed, buffeted by a gale only he could feel.  “No!” One long fingered hand rose to cover his mouth.  His eyes grew wide.  

Dean couldn't help but laugh.  For such a smart guy, his baby brother could be so clueless it was endearing.    He looked like an outraged grandma, for crying out loud.  

“Yes!”  Dean said in the same appalled tone Sam had used.  He nudged his shoulder into Sam’s armpit, shoring the giant stoner up.  “Shocking, I know,” he said, aiming them both towards the impala.  “What are sorority parties coming to when you can’t trust random strangers not to feed you illicit drugs?”  He snorted again.  “Jesus Christ, Sam.  I didn’t even _go_ to college and I know better.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  


Sam tried to moisten his lips, but his stupid mouth still didn’t seem to have any wet in it.  “Wha’ drug?” he slurred.  

Pulling open the Impala’s back door, Dean unceremoniously dumped his brother inside.  “Don’t know, Sammy.  What’re you feeling?”

“M’feeling _sick_ ,” Sam moaned.  He fell back, allowing Dean to push his mile long legs up into his chest and slam the door shut.  Sam slapped a palm over his eyes at the harsh, metallic thud.  “God, I need water.”  He flexed his jaw to the left and right, the motion so exaggerated it was comical.  Then he snapped his teeth together.  Twice.  “And gum!” he said, way too emphatically for such an innocuous statement.  “I need _gum!_ ”

 Ohhhh.  Okay.  Dean slid into the driver’s seat wearing a smirk.  While he may have never actually attended college he’d hit more than his fair share of college _parties_ and he was pretty sure he knew what they’d slipped his brother.   

“So,” Dean said, as he started the car.  It was hard work keeping his expression blank when what he really wanted to do was grin maniacally.  “I was thinking maybe we should replace the upholstery back there, Sammy.  What do you think about cloth instead of leather?”  

Sacrilegious nonsense, of course. _Blatant_ sacrilegious nonsense.  But Sam wouldn’t know that...even though he should, the putz.  

“Does the leather feel cracked or worn down to you?” Dean went on.  His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror as Sam sighed apathetically and flopped over, disjointed and gangly-limbed, to run a hand along the Impala’s back seat.  A blissed out expression crossed his face.   

“Oh, no way,” Sam breathed.  “You can’t take the leather out, Dean!”  He nuzzled his cheek against the pale-colored hide and moaned.  “Leather’s just so totally _awesome!_ ”  

Dean stopped trying to hide his amusement at ‘Stanford-turned-surfer-boy’ sprawled out in the back seat, and laughed uproariously.  Yeah...Sam was on ‘X’ all right.  Dean had been there – right there, as a matter of fact – and done that.  To be fair, the Impala’s leather _was_ pretty awesome.  

“K, listen up, stoner,” Dean said, when he had his guffaws back under some semblance of control.  “You’re in for a helluva night, but by tomorrow you should—”

“Smells sooooo good, too,” Sam interrupted, ignoring Dean.  He sucked in a great big breath, his nose buried in the seat-back.   Then Dean’s little brother frowned, looking charmingly confused and all of about twelve-years-old.  Dean’s heart gave a pang.  The last time he’d seen that expression on Sammy’s face, Sam had been seven – asking Dean how exactly the tooth fairy could keep getting through all the wards Dad set up.  Kid always was too damn smart for his own good.  Dean should have just saved his money.  

Suddenly, with, like,  _zero_ warning, Sam lurched up and buried his nose in Dean’s hair instead.  Dean almost drove the car into a ditch.  “The _fuck_?”  he cried, swatting at his brother’s head.

“Car smells exactly like you.”  Sam caught Dean’s flailing hand and held it still as if the effort required to do so were really no effort at all.  Hot breath stirred the hair at Dean’s nape, making it stand up even higher than Sam’s casual show of strength had.  “Like leather and…”  Sam sucked in another big breath.  “…oil and...sex,” he purred, his voice dropping three octaves in just as many words.

Goosebumps sprang up over Dean’s entire body.  His dick jerked as it came awake – wide-awake.    _Hey, hey, hey!_   it seemed to say.  _What the hell’s goin’ on here?_    Oh, crap.  This was so not cool.  Springing a hard on for your polluted baby brother had to be right up there with raping nuns in the ‘unforgivable sins’ category.  

Who’da thought Sam could _sound_ like that, though?  

“How come you always smell like sex, Dean?  Sam asked, without a trace of goddamned guile.  

And just what the fuck was Dean supposed to say to that?  Jesus!  Normally, he’d be cracking a joke right about now – if only in self-defence.  On the other hand, _normally_ , Sammy wouldn’t be breathing hot and heavy in Dean’s ear and talking in a voice that had Dean’s brain melting into a useless pile of goo!

...

 So, okay then, maybe he _wouldn’t_ have cracked a joke…normally... 

…

Dean’s halting, semi-retarded interior monologue was cut short when two hundred and twenty-something pounds of inebriated Winchester attempted to clamber over the backseat.  Into his lap.  

Yep.  You bet.  The Impala was doing fifty-five miles per hour on an unlit, unpaved, rutted-to-fuck country road and Sam apparently thought  that _right_ _now_ would be a fan-fucking-tastic time to work on his contortionist skills.  And – _And!_ – as if things weren’t screwed up enough just as they stood – didn’t the entire contents of Dean’s stomach choose that precise moment to rush up his throat in an ill-timed, but frenzied bid for freedom.   

“Oh, God, kill me now,” Dean groaned, swallowing the thick, acidic liquid back down through sheer force of will.  

Jesus, what Pagan God of Wrath had Dean accidently pissed off today?  ‘Cause surely shit wasn’t fucking up this bad, and this damned _fast,_ by pure coincidence alone.  Ah, but then Dean remembered the two gulps _he’d_ downed of Sam’s drink.  The pills on his brother’s skin had only been half dissolved…but who knew how many of them had been in the cup in the first place?  

There was simply no way of knowing how much of a hit Dean had gotten, even just from the dregs.  

Man, all he’d wanted to do was get laid by a cute college girl – and perhaps take out a witch or two in the process – was that _really_ too much to ask?  Really??  

Dean grimaced, slowed the car down to thirty and spit out the window – repeatedly – until runnels of slick saliva marred the Impala's shiny black paint.  

Between yelling at Sam to, “Get in the fucking backseat and stay there!”  Dean mumbled apologies to his baby, promising her a complete detail and wax first thing in the morning.  He knew he should just pull over and puke already – maybe beat his idiot brother unconscious while he was at it – but since he didn’t know how much harder the drugs were gonna hit,  Dean just wanted to get them both back to the hotel ASAP.    

All at once, the sick-spit in Dean’s mouth dried up. Hell, _all_ the spit in Dean’s mouth dried up.  He came out of his wretched slouch and pushed Sam’s hands away as his brother blocked his eyes for about the tenth damn time in the last five minutes.  

Sam had given up trying to get into the front, thank _God_.  Now, he was pressed up against the back of his brother’s seat, rifling his fingers through Dean’s hair and occasionally dropping lower to stroke his neck, cheeks and shoulders.  Sam had been doing that for a while, but Dean had been too damned sick to care until that very moment.  

Sam obligingly moved his fingers away from Dean’s eyes – but not away from his hair, _that_ he kept right on playing with.  It was relaxing, the way his fingers slid soft and skilled against Dean’s scalp.  Lulling even.

Dean sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest as his entire body sagged into the sensation of his brother petting him.  He had to make a conscious effort to keep his eyes open – and on the road.    Sam’s breath washed his cheek, smelling like...well like Sam.   Like spice and sugar and, very faintly, like the fine-grain alcohol his drink had been laced with.  Nummy. Man, how was it Sam could puke his guts out and his breath still came out smelling good? Shit like that – and by that, read weird – weird shit – was just so Sammy.   
Mmm. Sure was nummy, though. Weird or not – his brother smelled friggin’ awesome. Quite against his will, Dean found his head turning towards those hot, sweet-smelling exhalations.. 

“Store!”  Sam crowed.  He punched Dean’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a honkin’ big bruise.

“What?!”  Dean straightened up so fast that that same shoulder smacked into Sam’s cheek.  The car, which had been – slowly but surely – veering towards the far ditch, swerved back into the center of the road.  Sam didn’t seem to notice.   

“Ow,” Dean said, rubbing the ache in his shoulder.

 “Stop!” Sam insisted, punching Dean again.  In the same spot.  “Store!”

“Fuck,” Dean ground out, monosyllabic seeming to be the order of the day all of a sudden.  He veered into the Five-and-Dime’s parking lot and then turned in his seat and punched Sam’s shoulder just as hard as he could, which wasn’t really very hard – given the awkward angle and the way it kind of felt like his hand was moving through glass-edged bubbles.

Glass-edged wha—? Jesus Christ.  What the fuck did that even mean?  

Sam gave his brother a gigantic smile, dimples deep and dark.  Dean didn’t think the moron had even noticed being punched.  “Gum,” the younger Winchester said, his voice lilting up weirdly at the end, so that he sounded just like Yoda. Without another word, he threw open the car door and bounded into the store, the door left wagging in the wind behind him. 

Dean couldn’t quite muster the energy required to close it.  Instead, he hung his head out the window of his own door and moaned as another wave of nausea induced misery rolled over him. 

Seconds later – feeling much better, thanks  – he leaned over to sniff the upholstery.   

Mmmm.  Leather.

God knows how long Dean zoned-out on the almost erotic smell of leather and – fainter but still noticeable –sweat.  (Did he really smell like this?)  But it was apparently long enough for Sam to get whatever he’d needed from the store – as exemplified by the fact that Sam yanked open the passenger door and almost dropped a case of water bottles on his brother’s head.  

“Dean!”  Sam laughed and yanked Dean's head up by the longer hair on top of his head. “Get outta the way, man!  I almost dropped this on your head!”   

Hmmph.   Must be time for a haircut.  Dean really didn’t like having hair long enough to grab – made him vulnerable in a fight.  Made Sammy vulnerable too, but whenever Dean pointed that out Sam just rolled his eyes and gave Dean the hand.  As in, ‘Talk to the hand, bitch,’ which drove Dean freakin’ crazy!  Sam was a 6’-4” white guy, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t pull off the ‘hand’.  

“Not a black chick,” Dean muttered.  “Dumbass!”

“Not a purple elephant,” Sam retorted, obviously having no idea what Dean was talking about, but finding fun in the game nonetheless.  “Or... or wait – no – not _Bruce Lee_!”  He let Dean’s hair go and fell against the car as a fit of giggles overtook him.   “Bruce Lee!”  Snort.  Snort.  Snigger.  

Dean’s head thwacked off the seat.  Fuckin’ ow.  Again.  “The _hell_ you talkin’ about, Sammy?”  he asked, looking up at his brother through heavy-lidded eyes.  Which was when he noticed the aura.  In the parking lot’s sodium orange lamplight, his brother glowed like some sort of deity -   Sam seemed ten feet tall, was surrounded by spiky orange flames, and looked too pretty by half.  So, _so_ pretty, that baby brother of his.  

Dean gasped as _that_ unwanted, untoward, observation slammed full-blown into his mind.  Man, he must be seriously messed up, thinking whack crap like that!  WTF?

Right on the heels of the one distressing thought came another, equally distressing:  How the fuck was he supposed to drive them home like this?

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

  


Sam stopped laughing with a suddenness that was disconcerting.  Dean was staring up at him, his pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink, and those perfect lips of his all slick and soft and sexy looking.  “Man, I bet you look just like that after you’ve been fucked,” Sam murmured, completely bypassing any sort of internal brain/mouth filter.  And yeah, he was high, but he wasn’t high enough not to know that _that_ was a pretty messed up thing to say to your own brother.  No matter how sexy looking he was.  

Dean didn’t hear him, though.  Thank _God_.  

“Water,” his older brother rasped, lifting his hand in a pathetic pleading gesture that had Sam’s dick swelling up faster than a water balloon stuck on the end of a hose.  

Shit.  Now was not the time for things repressed – well repressed, Sam had thought! – to be rearing their ugly little heads.  But, _damn,_ his brother was beautiful when he begged.   Ah fuck.  Who was Sam kidding?  Dean was beautiful all the time, the begging thing just happened to be a kink of Sam’s and so made Dean seem just that much more gorgeous.  Like he needed the help.

“Uh…right…yeah…water.” Sam wrestled/wrenched one of the bottles free of the case’s tenacious plastic covering.  “Here,” he eventually said, breathing hard from the exertion of tearing the bottle free.

Dean pushed up onto his knees, so damned graceful – same as always – and Sam moaned.  Not even under his breath or anything.  He just moaned.  Out loud.

Luckily, Dean’s deafness was still in effect.  

…Hey, wait a minute… Was his brother really going deaf? Maybe they should book him a doctor’s appointment.  

Sam’s brows winged down as another thought occurred.  Unless he was just being ignored...  

Man he _better_ not be being ignored. 

Was he?  Being ignored?  

Wait...what was he doing that was being ignored again?  

Wait...wait…  

What?  

Gah!  Being stoned sucked!  Why did people enjoy this?  

 “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, accepting the bottle.  He didn’t appear to notice the google-eyed flip out Sam was silently having.  

Then Sam’s brother proceeded to twist off the cap and upend the water over his mouth. His hot, pink mouth.   Which would look so _great_ in that glittery lip-gloss the girls wore nowadays.  Sam wondered if Dean would even consider— 

The strong bob of Dean’s Adam’s apple snagged Sam’s eye, stopping his thought train dead.  

Bobbedy-bobbedy-bob.

It was kind of fascinating to watch…  

Was Sam surprised to find his fingers pressing up against the rhythmic movement?  No.  Not really…  Finding his mouth glued there a second later…  Yeah, that was a bit of a shocker.  When had he even knelt down? 

Dean swallowed once more, the motion intimate against Sam’s lips.  Then nothing.  Silence.  

Sam frowned and swabbed the area with his tongue, encouraging his brother to continue.

“…Sam?”

“Mmm, hmm?”  

Another long spell of silence.  

Dean’s hands landed on Sam’s shoulders, gently but forcefully encouraging him away.  Sam set his knees against the asphalt and pushed back, refusing to be moved.  

“What are you _doing_?”  Dean finally asked, his voice still a rasp.  It vibrated against Sam’s teeth, making him twitch.  His teeth were ticklish now?   Neat!    

Sam took his brother’s windpipe between his teeth and waited for him to say something else.  Anything else.  

“Get the fuck offa me!” 

Anything but that.  

Dean gave Sam a shove, not fooling around this time, and Sam went sprawling.  His elbows skidded over a patch of broken glass.

“Dean!”  Sam stuck his bottom lip out.  “What’s your friggin’ problem?”  He peeled off his outer shirt to check the damage.  Both elbows had a nasty road rash and his right one was bleeding from a good two inch slice.  “Shit,” he bitched, balling up the shirt to blot at the blood.

“ _I_ don’t have a problem.” Dean climbed out of the car and came down beside Sam to see how bad he’d been hurt.  “ _I_ wasn’t the one sucking on my brother’s neck in the middle of a fucking Five and Dime parking lot!”

Sam glanced around.  Oh, yeah.  Maybe that _had_ been a little bizarre on his part.  Luckily, no one had been around to witness his lack of propriety.  Not that he actually gave a fuck, but still…

Some small, sane part of Sam’s psyche chose that moment to pipe up with:  But you should give a fuck, Sam!  Dean will kill you if you keep this up.  You’ve denied these feelings for fifteen fucking years.  So quit screwing around.  Do you want him to hate you?  To leave you?  Then who’ll you have, numbnuts?  Who?  No one!  That’s who.  

Sudden tears welled in Sam’s eyes.  He threw himself against his brother who, as it happened, was balanced on only one knee picking bits of gravel out of Sam’s skin.  

They both went down hard.  

“Don’t leave me, Dean.”  Sam dug his face into his brother’s shoulder and tried to, somehow, climb up – maybe even _into –_ his body.  Arms and legs flailed.  Blood and tears smeared.  “You can’t leave me!”

“Sam.”  Dean petted his hysterical brother’s back.  

“Sam.”  Dean took hold of Sam’s head and tried to pull it back so he could look into Sam’s eyes.  

“Sam!” he yelped, when his brother denied his best efforts and took Dean’s throat between his teeth once more.  “Enough!”

Dean grabbed two big fistfuls of Sam’s hair and yanked while, at the same time, hooking his calf around Sam’s knees and flipping them both over.  Sam’s hands rose in self-defence.  Dean caught his wrists and immediately slammed them up over his head.  “Enough,” he said again, scowling.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

When Sam realized he’d been immobilized, his body jolted with adrenaline laced pleasure.  “Only you,” he gasped, writhing.  “You’re the only person who can take me down, Dean.  Take me out.”  He widened his legs so that his brother settled more firmly between them and then rocked his hips up, grinding his erection into Dean’s stomach.  Sam groaned. “And I _love_ that you can,” he admitted.  “I do.  Sometimes I dream about you holding me down and…”

Dean leaned back, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ – which would look so _sweet_ wrapped around Sam’s—  “Oh, God, your mouth,” Sam panted, straining against Dean’s strength to try and reach the long-denied object of his affection. “Your fucking beautiful _mouth_!”  

Dean’s head seemed to dip forward a fraction and Sam whined eagerly, pathetically, straining even harder to meet him half-way.  

“Jesus!” Dean hissed, scrambling off his brother.  He fell on his ass twice before successfully gaining his feet.

Sam whined again and palmed his erection, still lying spread-eagle and wanton on the dirty-sticky tarmac.  “Dean, please,” he begged, not even sure what it was he was begging for.  He just knew that his brother was _way_ too far away right now.  “Please, Dean.  Fuck…” 

When he heard the words falling shamelessly from his own lips, Sam grimaced.  He knew he was high.  He wasn’t stupid.  No, not stupid.  Just high as a goddamned kite on a drug he’d never even fucking heard of.  One that apparently kicked down all the walls he’d spent _years_ building and then turned him into a sex-addict to boot!  And whose fault was that exactly?  Why it was Deans fault!  That’s who!  

‘Blend in’, he’d said.  

‘Have a drink,’ he’d said.  

‘Loosen up,’ he’d said.  

Well fine.  Sam was loose, all right.  Look at Mr. Horny and Totally-Fucking-Loose over here!  And was it really so shocking that he couldn’t keep his hands, or lips, to himself?  Dean was sex on two wheels.  _Everyone_ thought so.  

Yeah.  

So fuck _Dean_ if he couldn’t handle it.  Sam was _his_ monster.  _He’d_ created him.  If he hadn’t wanted his younger brother to fall face-first in love with him then maybe he shouldn’t have always been so caring –so fucking _there_ whenever Sam needed him.  

Yeah!  

And if he’d really not wanted Sam to drool all over his fantastically tight ass, then maybe he should have made a more concerted effort not to look like that all the damn time.  Or smell like that…talk like that and…and look like that!  

Yeah!  

Fuck him!

‘Fuck you, Dean!’ Sam attempted to say, sitting up slow so the world had time to catch up.  Only what actually came out was, “Fuck me, Dean,” said gritty and low.  Not the way he’d meant it to sound at all.  Not what he’d meant to _say_ at all.  But fuck that too!  It was out there now.  Deal.  

Sam stuck his chin out belligerently and just dared his brother to make something of it.  

Then he realized he’d just thought the word ‘butt-fuck’ in a sentence and he dissolved into giggles, falling over onto his side once more.  

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

  


Dean knew he was slack-jawed.  Knew it and still couldn’t make his stupid mouth close.  WTF?  Sam dreamed about Dean holding him down?  Thought Dean’s mouth was beautiful?  Wanted to be fucked?  By Dean??  

Seriously!  What the _fuck_?  

Dean swiped a shaky hand across his mouth – shutting it in the process – and tried to reason Sam’s words away:  It was just the drugs messing with his baby brother’s mind.  That’s all.  No way could any of it be _true_.  

Dean wasn’t exactly sober himself, however.  And even though he’d _never_ found his brother sexually attractive before…  Hey, that dream he’d had when he was twenty had just been a bizarre anomaly.  Never mind that.  The point was...  

Umm…  

Oh, right…  

The point _was_ : Dean had never thought that way about his brother.  Never!  That, right there, was the goddamned point!  He’d never, _ever_ wanted to fuck his baby brother before, so the fact that _now_ Dean’s dick was hard enough to cut steel at the idea was – again – just the drugs.  Had to be.  

So... 

Whatever… 

Moving on.

Dean gave Sam a light kick in the ribs – scared to get too close.  “Get up,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual as he bent to retrieve the case of water Sam had dropped.  

Before his brother had lost his freakin’ mind – and dragged Dean along for the ride – Dean had been planning to ask if Sam felt sober enough to drive; ‘cause Dean sure as shit didn’t.  But the older Winchester now knew the answer was a definite no!As in, there was no _way_ was he gonna let Sam get behind the wheel, as wasted as he so obviously was _._   No, Dean would just have to suck it up.  

Suck it... 

… 

Christ, how big was Sam? That hard-on he’d been rubbing against Dean had felt massive!   He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to get his mouth around—  Oh, crap.  La-la-la-la-la!  He was not thinking what he’d just been thinking.  There would be _no_ sucking.  No.  Dean was just gonna get in the car and drive.  

There would be driving – not sucking.  

Dean adjusted himself in his suddenly too-snug jeans and tried to will his dick limp again.  Maggots.  Ghouls.  Betty White in a bikini!  

Didn’t work.God, why _was_ Dean so hard, anyway?  Horny?  Sure.  Dean had been on ‘X’ a few times before and ‘horny’ pretty much came with the territory.  But those other times, Dean couldn’t have sprung a hard-on if someone had put a gun to his head.  Not that having someone hold a gun on him would be sexy, or anything...

…a knife maybe... 

Dean’s eyes narrowed as his thought process tried to flit off tangent.  He needed to concentrate damn it! Hard-ons!  That’s what was important.  Sam’s huge hard-on.  When Sam shouldn’t have a hard-on at all.  And neither should Dean.  Especially not because of his seriously messed up, seriously _sexy_ little broth—

Stop it.

Dean popped the trunk and dropped the case of water inside, then slammed the trunk closed and gave his head a hard shake. The world swam with iridescent streaks of pumpkin-orange light.  Goddamned if this didn’t feel like an ecstasy high, though.  The auras, the heightened sense of touch, smell, and, Dean knew – if he’d just let himself have a sample of Sam’s pretty mouth – taste.  Dean’s eyes got even thinner.  Jesus H. Christ, he had to stop thinking shit like that!   

“Get up, you idiot!” he snapped, as he came back around the car to find Sam still rolling around on the ground and giggling like a two year old.  Which actually helped Dean get a grip.  There was nothin’ sexy about Sam acting like a moron.  It was an all too common occurrence.  Man, if Dean had to pick his brother up to get him in the car Sam was getting his ass pounded in the process.  

Err... _kicked_.  Sam was getting his ass _kicked_ in the process.

Still letting out the occasional burble of semi-hysterical laughter, Sam rolled over and pushed up onto his knees.  His butt rose first, his shoulders arched up a second later, and Dean forgot how to breathe.  It was the most overtly sexual movement he’d ever seen – right up until Sam began to crawl toward him, that is, narrow hips rolling, fine ass swaying like a handwritten invitation to sin.  And then _that_ was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.  Damn.  

Dean backed up, but the car announced its presence to his ass after just half a step.  “Please, Sammy,” he whined, panic riding him hard.  “Just get in the car, huh?”  He fumbled for the passenger-side handle.  Since the door was still ajar, Dean yanking it open just about tore the damn thing right off its hinges.

“Mmm, say it again,” Sam whispered, ignoring the open door.  He came to a stop at Dean’s feet and slid his big hands up Dean’s legs, fingers spread wide to receive as much tactile sensation as possible.  It happened slow.  So slow.  But Dean still couldn’t seem to pull it together enough to stop the illicit caress until Sam’s thumbs scraped the seam where thigh met groin and his stupid dick throbbed again – this time in anticipation.  Just a few more inches… c’mon, baby.

Ah, fuck.  No! “Sam, stop.  This isn’t you!” Dean grabbed his brother’s hands, using them to haul the younger man to his feet.  As soon as he was standing, Sam leaned his full weight into Dean, effectively trapping his older brother between the car and his own muscular frame.  His arms came around Dean’s waist to haul him in close and, oh yeah, there was that monster cock, pressed long and thick and hard into Dean’s stomach.  

God, Dean wanted to feel it.  He wanted to reach down and unzip his baby brother and let that huge dick just fall into his hands.  But no!  This was _Sam_ , not some nameless stranger in the back room of a bar.    

Dean preferred women to men.  Really.  He loved his T & A…& P, Dean did.  But sometimes a hard cock, a tight ass, and acres of golden skin could make him stray from his preference.  Sometimes.  If the guy was tall enough, buff enough, and had the right tilt to his almond eyes.  Or the right shaggy brown hair.

Dean moaned as Sam’s tongue flicked along his jaw-line.  It felt so good.  Fuck!  Why couldn’t Sam just get in the car? 

Sam moaned back, his breath hot in Dean’s ear.  “Yeah,” he said.  “It’s me.”  He rolled his hips against his brother’s, an aggressive grind.  “It’s all me,” he promised, suckling at Dean’s throat.  “Now say it again.”

“What?”  Dean struggled to break free of Sam’s tenacious hold while, for some insane reason, still baring his neck for the guy.  It was a reaction he couldn’t seem to control.  Needless to say, his escape tactics were suffering as a result.  “Say what again, Sammy?  I don’t know what you want?”

“Yeah ya do.  I already told ya what I want.”  Sam’s hand slipped over Dean’s shoulder to tighten on his nape.  He pushed his brother’s head even farther to the side.  “I want you.  Wanna lick you and suck you and make you scream. Wanna have you so deep inside me I can feel you in my throat.  But right now, what I want is to hear you say ‘please’ again.” Sam licked a hot wet stripe from the neckline of Dean’s tee shirt all the way up to the crazy sensitive spot just behind his ear.  “I want you to beg for me, Dean,” he purred. 

Every hair on Dean’s body did its level best to stand straight up for the amazingly sexy bastard his brother had turned into.  Sam’s voice was so rough and low.  And the feel of his mouth on Dean’s body, the shameless words falling from his silky lips…  Christ, how was Dean supposed to resist this?

“Please, Sammy,” Dean groaned, willing to say whatever it took to get his brother _off_ him before Dean did something they’d both regret.  He brought his chin down despite his very fervent desire to do the opposite and took a harsh hold of his brother’s biceps.  Maybe too harsh, seeing as how his knuckles turned white.  “ _Please_ , Sammy.  Please, get in the car!”

Sam’s lower lip pooched out.  Funny, Dean was the one with the fuller lips, but Sam was the one who’d mastered the perfect pout.  “No, dumbass,” Sam bitched.  “Not like that.  I want—”

Dean heartily resisted the urge to just _give_ Sam what he wanted – everything he wanted.  Right here in the fucking Five and Dime parking lot.  But he wasn’t that wasted and – please _God_ – never would be.

Unfortunately, with every second that trickled past, the drugs coursing through Dean’s system were exerting a stronger influence – so if he stood _any_ chance of getting them home in one piece, they needed to leave now.  “Look, Sam,” Dean interrupted his prettily petulant brother. “If you were to – oh, I don’t know – _get in the goddamned car?_ I promise I’ll say whatever the hell you want once we get back to the hotel.  Deal?”

Sam leaned back and studied Dean’s face.  Then he smiled.  Grinned really – a big Cheshire cat grin.  

Hmm.  That may not have been the most clever deal Dean had ever cut.

“Whatever I want?” Sam asked, his eyes glittering. 

“I’ll _say_ whatever you want,” Dean clarified.  

Sam rolled his hips forward one more time, an exquisitely erotic press that had Dean seeing stars – white ones with lozenge shaped pink tails.

“Okay,” Sam said.  “Deal.”  He tilted Dean’s chin up and – before Dean could form any kind of protest – sealed their lips together in a fierce kiss.  There was no tongue action, thank Christ, but it was still hot and intense and… basically perfect.  As Dean angled his head to deepen the contact, opening his mouth despite himself, Sam pulled away.  “More later,” he promised.  His thumb stroked tenderly over Dean’s cheekbone before he let his dazed brother go and turned to climb into the car.

Dean sagged against the Impala.  Sam’s lips had robbed him of the ability to utilize oxygen properly, he needed a minute to recuperate.  

Recuperation came with a big dose of self-recrimination.  Fuck!  _Fuck!!_   Sam had kissed him!  Worse, Dean had friggin’ kissed him back. And, even worse than that?  He was kind of desperate to do it again.  What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?    

“You comin’, sexy?”  Sam called, his voice a lilting sing-song of insobriety. 

What the fuck was wrong with them both?  

Before he had time to censor the impulse, Dean swung around and slammed his fist into the Impala’s hood. 

Pain helped.  A lot.  Okay.  He could do this – drive them home – keep his hands off his baby brother.  

He could!

…

Couldn’t he?

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

  


“Stop it!” Dean hissed.  Again.

“No,” Sam replied.  Again.  “I like looking at you, and since you won’t let me touch—“

Dean cursed and smacked the steering wheel.  “Fine, look then!  Jesus!”  

Sam’s brows arched up – Dean had never resorted to beating up his beloved car before, but that was twice now that he’d lashed out at the Impala.  Sam must really be getting to him.  

 

...

 

Good.  

 

He turned in his seat so that he was facing Dean even more directly.  

 

Passing streetlights tossed intermittent, flare-bright bursts of illumination across the Impala’s front seat, highlighting every plane and curve of Dean’s face for just one, heart-stopping instant before shadow swept in to conceal his brother’s beauty once more.  

 

And, God, he _was_ beautiful.  

 

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.”  Sam thwacked his hand against his chest.  “Makes my heart hurt sometimes, you know?” 

 

Wow, and how great was it that he could finally _say_ that?  When Sam had first realized he was _beyond_ inebriated and that the stupid drug – ‘S’, or whatever – had destroyed all his inhibitions – like completely _annihilated_ them! – he’d been afraid.  Lord knows why.  It was damned freeing to finally – finally! – be able to admit the way he felt about his brother.  In fact, Sam rather wished he’d gotten around to admitting it sooner.  Wished he’d not been such a whiny, angsty little pussy about things because – judging by the way Dean had practically fallen into Sam’s arms in the parking lot back there  – his brother wasn’t nearly as aghast at the idea as Sam had thought he'd be.  

Hmm.  Maybe he should test that theory a bit more, though...  

Dean cut Sam a pissed-off sideways glance.  The car only veered a little bit in the process.  “Dude, I’m not beautiful.  You’re stoned.”  Then he looked forward again, jaw clenched so tight his pulse could clearly be seen in the twitching muscle.  

His profile was clean and pure and... _beautifu_ l.  

“Yeah, I’m stoned,” Sam agreed.  “But you’re still beautiful.  The one don’t have nothin’ to do with the other, stupid.”

Dean slapped at Sam’s feet where they were trying to nudge into his lap.  “Cut it out.  I’m driving.”

Sam smiled and leaned forward.  His arm came across the back of Dean’s seat and his hand curled gently around his brother’s nape.  He watched in satisfaction as Dean shivered, just from that.  Oh, yeah.  This was in the bag.  

“Don’t look...  Don’t touch...” Sam said, palming his cock through his pants.  Dean’s gaze flicked down to Sam’s lap and he let out this adorable, strangled sounding gasp.  Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.   

_So_ in the bag!  

“Throw me a bone, Dean.”  Sam blew a soft breath against Dean’s hyper-tense bicep, letting his lips rest there as he murmured, “Talk to me – like you said you would.”  His hand crept onto Dean’s thigh and his brother jumped about six inches off the seat.  

And promptly knocked Sam’s fingers away.

“Fuck, Sam!”

“Yeah.  Like that,” Sam agreed, mouthing Dean’s arm through his tee-shirt.   “Talk dirty to me, just like you used to with Sylvie Jameison.  You remember Sylvie, right?”

Dean turned wide, startled eyes on Sam.  “Wha—”

“The fire-escape was just outside her bedroom window,” Sam confided, shifting closer still to breathe deep of Dean’s sexy, musky scent.  “I used to watch you – how you tied her up, how you—”  He groaned and latched onto his brother’s neck.  “How you spanked her.  God, Dean... ”  Sam’s fingers moved faster over his cock.  “I wanted it to be me.”

“Jesus.” Dean’s palm came against Sam’s skull but he wasn’t pushing him away, he was pulling him closer.  “You’d have only been—”

“Fifteen.  I was fifteen.”

“Jesus,” Dean moaned again.  He didn’t knock Sam’s hand off when it came to rest on his leg this time.  

Sam’s gut clenched in excitement.  He sucked on the wonderfully tender spot just behind his brother’s ear as his fingers inched upward.  

The Impala lurched, rubber crunching on gravel, and Dean’s attention was pulled back to the road.  

“ _Shit!_ ”   

He wrestled with the wheel as one tire dug deep into the highway's soft shoulder and the other continued to race over asphalt.  The car started to spin, but he fought it and won back control.  When they were safe, he straight-armed Sam away from him.  His brother slammed into the passenger side door.  Dean winced at the impact.  “Okay,” he said, seemingly to himself.  “Okay then.”  

Dean took a deep breath, held it for a long second, and then blew it out.  Hard.  All the while, continuing to hold Sam far, far away from him.  “Baby,” he finally said, his tone butter-soft.  “Please just let me get us home.  Please.”  His blown green eyes flicked sideways to meet Sam’s.  “I’ll talk, I’ll beg, whatever you want, just...please.  Okay?”

Sam sighed and glanced around.  They were only ten minutes, or so, from the hotel.  “Fine,” he agreed.  Dean was no good to him dead, after all. He settled back and turned to face his brother head-on again.  He _was_ gonna keep looking, though, and Dean couldn’t do anything about it.  Neener-neener-neener.  Sam stuck his tongue out at Dean and blew a big, wet raspberry.

Dean’s mouth twitched up at one corner.  “You’re an idiot, Sam.”

“You’re a cock-tease, Dean,” Sam shot back.

Dean’s smirk turned into a scowl.  Ha!  Sam thought.  Truth hurts, don’t it, bitch?  He continued to stroke himself through his jeans, smiling in not-so-secret satisfaction.  In ten minutes, Dean’s ass was gonna be his.  

He could wait.

***

 

“Wait!” Dean panted, trying to fend Sam off while he searched his pockets for the room key.  “ _Wait!_ ”

“I can’t!”  

Sam knew he was out of control, but he’d waited so long already!  Enough!  He wrapped himself around Dean’s back and ground his cock into his brother’s fabulous ass as his hands roved their way under Dean’s shirt, scratching over his abs, tweaking his pretty pink nipples and then dropping lower to grope and squeeze the hard bulge in Dean’s jeans.  His brother was hard.  For him!  Fuck!  How was he supposed to wait, knowing that?

Dean slammed the door open, turned, yanked his brother inside, and thumped him up against the nearest wall.  The door drifted closed beside them. “Sam get a—”

“Baby,” Sam said, tearing at Dean’s shirt.  It was too much effort to pull it off, so much easier to just rip the damned thing in half.  “Call me baby again.”

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed on an audible gulp.  He snatched at his brother’s busy hands and brought them up beside Sam’s head, threading their fingers together.  “Alright,” he whispered, leaning in close until his chest pressed Sam back into the cracked plaster.  “Listen, baby, I’m gonna get you started.  Talk to you – like you want – and then you’re gonna go have a shower and take care of yourself, okay?”

“No,” Sam moaned.  “Not okay.  That’s not what we agreed to.”  His hips rose, seeking friction, but Dean twisted his own hips away.

“Sure it is,” Dean argued.  He angled his head to suck on Sam’s earlobe as he spoke, his voice low and persuasive.  “I said I’d talk.  I will.”  His tongue darted inside, a burst of hot wet, and Sam cried out, arching into his brother.  “But you gotta do this for me, baby.  Please.”  He bit gently at Sam’s jawbone.  “Please,” he breathed again.

Every ‘please’ made Sam twitch.  His brother’s voice was pure seduction, it was driving him wild.  He wrapped his calf around Dean’s knees and yanked him into full body contact.  It was Dean’s turn to moan.  “So talk,” Sam hissed, agreeing to nothing, just wanting to hear more of that amazing velvet rasp.

Dean let go of Sam’s hands to lean back and tug his brother’s shirt over his head.  When Sam’s torso was bare, he allowed his eyes linger for a long time on Sam’s chest and stomach.  Sam flexed his muscles, almost unconsciously seeking approval.  Dean didn’t disappoint.  “You’re so sexy, Sammy,” he said.  He skimmed the back of his hand up the center of Sam’s abs.  “So pretty.”  

Then he dropped to his knees.

Sam almost came.  Right then and there.  Dean on his knees in front of him had been one of his dearest fantasies for so long.  “Dean,” he moaned, carding his fingers through his brother’s soft hair.  

“I want you to remember this,” Dean husked, rubbing his lips against Sam’s sharp hipbone as he spoke.  “My lips on you.”  He took the skin just above Sam’s waistband into his mouth and sucked a love-mark into it.  “I want you to remember—”  Dean lifted his chin and flicked his tongue into the indent of Sam’s navel.  “— how fuckin’ hard you made me.  How crazy.” 

Sam’s skull thwacked off the wall.  “Oh, God,” he whimpered, clutching his brother’s head close.  “Dean, please...”

“No, baby boy.  I’m the one who says please.”  Dean tongue fucked Sam’s shallow belly button a few more times and Sam helplessly writhed.  “When you’re in the shower, your fingers wrapped tight around that huge cock of yours...”  Dean inched his way up Sam’s torso, licking and sucking all the way.  “I want you to imagine me tied up on your bed...”

“God yes...”

Dean skimmed his teeth across Sam’s taut little nipple.

“Dean!”  Sam's hands spasmed in the curls at Dean’s nape.

“I’m tied up and you’re kneeling above me,” Dean whispered, biting now.  “You’re so hard, baby.  So fuckin’ big and hard.”  His palms skidded over Sam’s ribs, across his back, and finally, all the way down to cup Sam’s ass.  “And I want it.  I want it so bad.  ‘Please, baby,’ I moan, trying to take you in my mouth.”  Dean was kneading Sam’s ass, rocking their hips together.  Sam thought he might pass out, it felt so fucking good.  “But you’re teasing me,” Dean says.  “All I can reach is the very tip.  I push my tongue into your slit, taste you, and you smile and rub yourself across my lips.  You like my lips, don’t you?”

“Yuhuh,” is all Sam can manage by way of reply.  

“Please.  God please, Sammy!” Dean moaned, sucking hard on Sam’s nipple, grinding even harder into Sam’s crotch.  “I need it.  Let me suck you.”

“Oh, fuuuu—”

Sam honestly didn’t know how he hadn’t already come.  This was the hottest, most intense thing he’d ever experienced.  It felt like any second now, he was going to burst apart in an epic explosion of lust and love and _wan_ t.  He was a fucking super-nova just waiting to happen.

“And then you do.”  Dean was on the move again, upwardly mobile, nibbling Sam’s collarbone as he passed it by.  “You thumb my mouth wide open and slip inside.  And it’s so good, baby.  You’re so fucking good.”  His teeth were on Sam’s neck...then, on the red, swollen lobe of his ear...  “I take you all the way down into the back of my throat.  I’m moaning at the way you stretch my lips, at how hard you feel against my tongue.”  Dean’s panted breath washed Sam’s ear. Grind turned into thrust.  “Come in my mouth, baby.  Please.  I wanna taste you... I _need_ it.”

Unable to bear the tease even one _second_ more, Sam wrenched Dean’s head towards him and slammed their lips together.  There was no finesse to the kiss.  It was wet and dirty, hot and raw.  Teeth clicked.  Lips tore.  It was friggin’ _awesome_ – right up until he felt Dean hesitate – begin to pull away.   

“Dean,” Sam moaned, terrified his brother was going to stop.  He clutched at Dean’s broad shoulders, trying to capture his lips once more.  Stricken tears filled his eyes, overflowed and trickled down his face.  “Oh ,God, Dean.  Don’t do this to me!” 

Dean cradled Sam’s head in both of his hands as he swiped his thumbs through the wet on his baby brother’s cheeks.  “Shhhhh, Sammy.  I’m still here.  It’s okay,” he muttured, before sealing their mouths together.  His agile tongue twined around – stroked over – basically goddamned _owned_ Sam’s own _._  It was kind of insane how well the man kissed.  I mean, rumour had always had it that Dean Winchester was great in the sack, but... _God!_

Sam’s knees tried to buckle at a particularly adept deep-throat loop-dee-loo but, luckily, Dean was strong enough to bear his brother’s dead weight.  It wasn’t even an issue.  That knowledge made Sam groan even louder, despite the fact that he was already being _embarrassingly_ vocal.  Who could blame a guy, though?  

Dean was so...he was just _so_...

“Go on now,” Dean said, trying to ease away again.  Sam chased his lips but this time, Dean held him off.  “Go have that shower, Sam.  Think of me.”

“Dean, no!  C’mon.  I—”

Dean caught his brother’s grabby hands and raised them to his mouth.  “I’m not gonna take it further,” he said softly, licking across Sam’s knuckles.  “I _can’t_.  But you’re so close, baby.”  His hips rolled, rubbing their cocks together just once more.  “ _Please_ , Sam.  Go.  Do this for me,” Dean begged, his face strained.  

Then he let go of Sam’s wrists and stepped back completely, turning away.

Sam bared his teeth at his brother’s back – an animalistic expression of anger and _profound_ disappointment.  He _was_ close.  So friggin’ close.  Why couldn’t Dean just... 

“Fuck!  Fine!!”  Sam pushed off the wall, swayed, and had to reach out for it again to steady himself.  “That’s just fine, Dean!  But you seem to think that something’s gonna change when I come.”  Sam cursed his inconvenient weakness, pulled himself together, and took the few measly steps required to reach the bathroom door.  Slow and steady wins the race, as the tortoise always says.  “It’s not,” he informed his brother, bracing himself against the doorframe to turn and look back.  

Sam’s heart paused mid-beat, resuming a long second later with a very painful ‘thud’.  

Dean had thrown himself down in the room’s only chair, legs long in front of him, knees slightly spread – parted just wide enough for Sam to see the shadowy outline of his brother’s prominent erection. Dean’s hand was over his face, his head tilted back to expose the elegant, tendon-tense line of his throat.  Only his lips were visible.  So red and swollen, still gleaming from Sam’s saliva...  Sam had torn his brother’s tee half off his body in his frantic haste to reach skin.  It hung in tattered black cotton strips, its frayed edges drooping from Dean’s left shoulder to frame an irregular, sun-kissed triangle of smooth, muscular torso.  

Sam’s heart ‘pause-thudded’ again.  Dean was the epitome of male beauty.  He was _everything_ Sam had ever wanted.    

“It’s not,” Sam vowed once more.  “I want _you_.”  He punched the wall beside him, splitting the skin of the knuckles his brother had so recently – so tenderly – licked.  

Dean’s head snapped forward.  “Sam—”

“I’ve always wanted you!” Sam yelled.  “I’ve been in love with you since I was ten-years-old, Dean!  And a few minutes in the shower with my dick in my hand isn’t going to change that!  So wrap your fuckin’ mind around it already! _”_

So saying, Sam stormed into the bathroom and viciously kicked the door shut behind him.

...

......

..........


	6. Chapter 6

  


Dean groaned and dropped his palm back over his face.  

Well, that had gone spectacularly! Spectacularly bad!  

Even though it had felt so damn...

Jesus Christ!  He’d made all these friggin’ rules on the drive over here.  Yes, he’d touch Sam – but only above the waist and Sam wasn’t allowed to touch back.  No way.  Dean hadn’t thought his tenacious control would be up for that.  (Turns out he’d been right.)  He’d talk dirty for his baby brother – say whatever Sammy needed to hear, but under no circumstances would Dean kiss him again.  Words could be taken back, forgotten if he was very lucky, but actions...  

Shit.  Actions were pretty damn irreversible, weren’t they?

Oh, but Sammy had been so hot, so desperate...and he’d felt so fucking _perfect_ in Dean’s arms.  It had only taken – what? – two seconds before Dean was mauling his ass?  Doing the good ol’ bump and grind as he’d spun a fantasy he’d had _wa_ y too little trouble imagining.  When Sam had kissed him Dean had almost – _almost –_ made himself pull away.  Right up until he’d seen the tears shining on his baby brother’s cheeks.  What the hell was he supposed to do?  The fact that Dean was responsible for those wet, silvery tracks had just about torn him apart.  So he’d kissed him.  His own brother.  Kissed him and groped him and almost come in his own pants at how fucking good it had felt.

Dean could only hope that Sam was dead wrong and that jacking off in the shower _would_ help his baby brother regain some semblance of control  – ‘cause if this was all on Dean, he figured they were fucked.  ‘X’ highs lasted at least five hours – often longer –  and if Dean was the only one fighting this, this _thing_ between them he didn’t see how he was gonna make it.  Not if Sam kept up with the begging and crying and tearing off Dean’s clothes...  

And, goddamn it, what was with Sam saying he was in _love_ with him?  I mean, Jesus!  Who falls in love at ten-years-old anyway??  

Sam was obviously _insane_.  

It probably had something to do with watching Sylvie and Dean when he was only ( _Jesus Christ!_ ) fifteen.  That woman had rocked Dean’s nineteen-year-old world sideways – so Lord knows what watching them together had done to poor Sammy.  

Dean’s mind started to meander down memory lane...  

The first time he’d seen Sylvie, Dean had been in the elevator with his dad.  And even John, normally Mister Oblivious when it came to women, had given her a thorough look-over and an honest-to-goodness smile.  So rare to see his Dad smile like that; Dean had harboured a brief hope that maybe his old man would _finally_ get some.  After all, the beautiful woman was closer to John’s age than Dean’s.  

Ahh, but after Dean’s gaze had wandered up her phenomenal body –  past legs that looked eighteen miles long in those black four-inch heels, past a perfect, make-you-fall-down-and-praise-God ass, past a waist he knew his hands would have no trouble spanning, and past high, proud tits Dean figured  he’d need _more_ than two hands to properly heft – their eyes had locked.  Moss-green to mint.  

Dean smiled, remembering how Sylvie’s pale green cat’s eyes had set off her wild red curls so sexily.  Nope.  After that one look, Dean had known he wanted her for himself.  Screw John.  His dad could go find his own unbelievably hot piece of ass.    

That day, Sylvie hadn’t said a word – to either man.  What she _had_ done, was tip Dean a wink when she got off on the floor just below theirs.  After that, it was really just a matter of time.    

Sylvie hadn’t said a word the next time Dean found himself in the elevator with her, either – three days later. Not one.  She’d just backed Dean into that cracked mirror wall, kissed him to within an inch of his life –  better than he’d ever been kissed before, until very recently – and then crooked a finger when the door opened up on her floor.  Dean had followed, of course – like she’d wrapped a leash around his cock and was tugging on it.  

Yeah, well, that’s pretty much what she’d done, wasn’t it?

The three weeks he spent with her are still a bit of a blur in Dean’s memory.  One fan-fucking-tastic orgasm followed by another.  Etcetera...

Infinitum...   

Maybe he hunted?  Must have, Dean supposed.  He frowned and tried to recall what— 

Oh, right.  Yeah.  They’d bagged that pair of werewolves.  It had been a tricky kill – since there were two of ‘em.  That’s why they’d ended up staying in Seattle so long.  Dean must have eaten and slept, too, done other stuff...  But who could really say?  It was all Sylvie, by that point.  Sylvie and, let’s face it, Sylvie’s Kinks.  She’d been the first person to introduce Dean to the big, wide world of Kink – with a capital K – and, to this day, was the only person he’d ever really let himself go with.  You couldn’t get intimate like that with one night stands – there was no trust.  

And Cass hadn’t been into it.  She’d tried to humor him a few times, but...

A choked off groan from the bathroom pulled Dean’s attention back into the here and now.

Ahh, hell.  Sammy.  

Sam had been introduced into that forbidden world right along with his big brother.  Shit.  The things he must have seen...  It had to have warped the kid something awful.  No wonder he’d been such a little bitch that summer.  Always snapping at Dean and then storming off in one of his trademark sulks.  

The things he must have _seen_!  

Like that time... 

Well...      

Dean heaved a sigh and left off petting his achingly hard cock.  No need to replay every explicit second of his time spent with Sylvie – only now, Dean was imagining his pretty brother sitting in the room with them.  Watching.  Maybe touching...kissing...  

Nope!  No need to go there at all.  

What Dean needed was a drink. He was already up and in the mini fridge – reaching for a frosty brown bottle – when Dean  realized that a drink was really the last thing he needed.  Not of beer, anyway.  He checked his pockets for the car keys and then headed for the front door, tearing his shirt the rest of the way off in the process.  It had been his one of his favourite shirts, too.  Alice Cooper – Billion Dollar Babies.  The tee had been about thirty years old.  One of Dad’s.  Cozy as a hug and soft as Sam’s skin...  

Another groan from the bathroom had Dean flinging the shirt aside like so much garbage as he rushed out into the muggy Florida darkness.  Fuck the shirt.  He had to get out of there now, before he did something incredibly foolish like throwing open that bathroom door and showing Sammy exactly how much he’d learned from Mistress Sylvie.  

“Dean,” came Sam’s fraught voice – the wafer-thin door no hindrance at all to the ragged, erotic sound.

Mmm,hmm.  Time to go.  Go.  Go!  _Go!_

The door snicked closed behind him, with nothing approaching finality.    

Dean’s panicked heart rate slowed to normal as he reached the car.  He popped the Impala’s trunk, hands quivering only a little bit, and grabbed the case of water to rip out a bottle and drain its contents in one, needy gulp.  Case tucked under his arm, cool against his naked torso, Dean was just about to shut the trunk when Sammy’s laptop snagged his attention.  It was almost buried under one of his brother's old hoodies. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed.  He dropped the water at his feet and fished the computer out, taking a long second to bury his face in the armpit of Sam’s dirty shirt before resolutely dropping it and slamming the trunk closed once more.  

When the start-up screen flicked on – about five days later – Dean Googled the words: Ecstasy + Hard-on.  Thank Christ Sam had insisted on a WiFi card.  Being able to research on the fly had turned out to be really freakin’ useful.  And, honestly, anything that meant Dean didn’t have to go back inside and be tempted by the horny, groaning sexiness that was his brother was absolutely a-okay in his books.

Dean wasn’t great with the internet searches, unlike his geek-boy wonder-twin, but apparently he was good enough.   The results came back a half-second later and Dean got to learn a brand new word:  _Sextacy_.  

Sextacy, as it turned out, was a chemical combination of the drugs Viagra and Ecstasy.  It was also known as ‘Trail Mix’.  ‘Happy Trails,’ the little blonde bitch had murmured.  Dean was _so_ going back to slap her around after this, even if she wasn’t a witch! 

Alarm mounted as he scrolled down and read about all night orgies, erections that sometimes wouldn’t go away without a visit to the hospital (And _that_ word was priapism, folks!) and about perfectly healthy twenty-year-old kids having fatal heart attacks while high on the fuckin’ stuff.

Dean’s heart picked up speed once more, slamming against his ribs like a sledge hammer so that, from somewhere way down in the depths of his subconscious, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if _he_ was about to have a heart-attack.  Stuck in the forefront of his mind, however, playing front and center like one of those creepy old Hammer horrors – complete with a wow-you-are-so- _screwed_ soundtrack –  was the image of steam billowing out from under the ill-fitted bathroom door.  Just like it had been a full – he checked the clock in the corner of the laptop’s screen – Oh, crap.  A full ten minutes ago!

Sam ran his showers hotter than Hell.  Dean refused to follow after him if they were in a room that had its own hot water tank, because the little shit _never_ left him any hot water.  This hotel had a communal hot water tank, however – a never-ending reservoir of scalding water to flush Sam’s blood up to the surface of his skin, superheat it, and then send it back like a molten arrow right into his brother’s surely already labouring heart.   

“Sam!” Dean cried, top volume in the a.m. hush.  “Turn down the water!”

But of course, Sam couldn’t hear him.  

Dean slammed the laptop closed, leapt off the car – and promptly fell over the case of water still at his feet.  He pulled a duck and cover that would have made the old man proud, protecting Sam’s computer at the expense of his entire left side – ‘cause, hey, if Sam _didn’t_ die in that shower, he would definitely kick Dean’s ass all the way to Sunday if his precious laptop got broke – and then Dean was flying towards their room, oblivious to the pain from his abraded skin, and to the blood trickling down his ribs. 

“Sammy!” he hollered, racing into the room.  

Steam hung like a widow’s veil in front of the bathroom, thick and secretive.  It billowed up from the crack near the floor to obscure the door’s dirty white paint before casting hungry, misty feelers into the rest of the room.  Thing was, though, it was pretty hot in the room already – at least eighty.  Stupid, useless air-conditioner!  So then, the question really became, ‘how fucking hot was it in the _bathroom_?’  

“Sam!”  Dean tossed the laptop at the chair while running full tilt for that dirty door. He took out the lock and a large part of the frame as he burst into the tiny room.  

Panic rode him like a crazed animal bent on protecting its young.  Hell, that was as good an analogy as any; if anything happened to his baby brother...  Dean refused to finish that thought.  Instead, he whipped open the shower curtain, unconcerned when he ended up tearing it entirely free from the rod.  

Sam was hunched into the corner, face pressed into the angle where mold-flecked tiles met more mold-flecked tiles.  His back was flushed blood-red from the heat.  And he was crying.  Hoarse, desperate sounding sobs that made Dean want to kill someone.  _Anyone_.  So long as it would make his brother stop sounding like that _._  

“Sammy...baby...”  

He reached out to stroke his brother’s quaking shoulders.  The water that landed on Dean’s hand and wrist felt hot enough to flay skin.  “Fuck, Sam,” he hissed, bending to crank off the water instead.  Sam’s ass – heat-pink and mouth-wateringly pretty – brushed Dean’s cheek as he leaned down.  He manfully resisted the urge to turn his head just a fraction of an inch and have a taste of that sweet, pink skin.  

“Sammy,” he said one more time as he straightened.  Hmph.  Strange how every other word in his vocabulary seemed to have disappeared.  Dean took a gentle hold of his brother’s arm and tried to turn the younger man towards him.

At first, Sam resisted.  

And then he didn’t.

Dean froze as his brother faced him full-on.  His skin flushed hot – not unlike the crimson of Sam’s own face.  Not just his face, though, Dean’s brother was red _everywhere_.  Everywhere, that is, except for his cock – which was a purple so dark it almost looked blue.  Sam’s cock was beyond engorged, visibly pulsing as each frenzied beat of his heart pushed even more blood into the long, broad column.  It jerked and trembled as if being slapped, though Sam’s hand had fallen off it.  

Jesus, Sam was big.  Big and thick and perfect and just... just...

Jesus...

“Are...are you okay?”  Dean asked, forcing his gaze to climb upward.  Sam’s face was a rictus mask of pain when Dean’s eyes finally reached it and Dean felt a stab of guilt.  His brother was in agony and here Dean was gaping at his junk.  What the fuck was wrong with him?  “Oh, hey.  Hey, now,” he said, stepping into the tub to wrap an arm around Sam’s waist and guide him towards the door, and the marginally cooler air outside the bathroom.  “It’s okay, Sammy.  You’re fine.”  

Dean grabbed a towel off the rack as they passed by and, when they reached the bedroom, attempted to wrap it around Sam’s lean hips.  The nine – or more?  Jesus-fuck! – inches of petrified wood his brother was sporting made the task difficult.  Dean chuckled, the sound weak even in his own ears, and brushed the back of one finger down over the huge ridge Sam’s cock made underneath the cheap white terry.  He just couldn’t help himself, damn it!  “I, uhh...I thought you were gonna take care of this monster, Sammy.”

Sam finally broke the wounded silence he’d fallen into, only to let loose with a low, tormented hiss.  He wrapped his arms around Dean’s back – drawing a small hiss from Dean, as well.  Oh, yeah.  His back was scratched up.  He’d forgotten. 

“I can’t come,” Sam moaned, burying his wet face in Dean’s neck.  “It hurts, Dean.  It hurts so bad.”

Dean barely noticed the way his brother was manoeuvring them both towards the closest bed.  The anxious subliminal thrum of ‘heart-attack, heart-attack, heart-attack’ that had carried him thus far now turned into an equally panicked refrain of ‘priapism, priapism, priapism!’ And believe you, me, that was just as much of a brain-twister as it is a tongue twister! 

“Help me.” Sam was gasping and sucking on Dean’s neck.  “You’ve gotta help me!”

The back of Dean’s knees hit the bed.  He sat, still wrapped tight around his brother.  But that was okay, since Sam followed him down anyway, pushing Dean flat and then crawling over him.  The towel slipped free of its indecisive hold on Sam’s hips – leaving bare, damp, fantastically supple skin under Dean’s palms.  

Oh, fuck.  He was in so much trouble...

“Shhh, baby boy,” Dean whispered.  His hands roved lower as he bared his throat for Sam’s violently aggressive mouth.  “...  Shhh.  It’s okay.  I’ll help...  Of course I’ll help.  Shhh, baby...

...Shhhhhh...”  

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

  
Author's notes: Long hiatus, I know...sorry. Life is hectic and I kind of lost the thread of this story for a while. :)  


* * *

Sam felt like his skin was on fire, or crawling off his back... or... or something!  And Dean was just shushing him like he was a stupid four-year-old. He didn’t need shushing, for fuck’s sake. He needed—

Sam thrust his hips down against Dean’s and crushed their mouths together. Dean tried to turn his face away, but that _so_ wasn’t going to happen! It was a little late for his brother to play the blushing virgin, not with those husky promises he’d made still stroking hot through Sam’s brain.

Dean tied up. Tied _down._ His gorgeous lips wrapped tight around Sam’s cock. “Fuck, I want you,” Sam groaned. Not above employing some dirty talk of his own. And, alright, so maybe he wasn’t quite as good at it as his brother. That wasn’t too big a surprise, was it? He held Dean’s face between his hands, allowing him no room to escape as Sam’s tongue thrust past his teeth. 

Dean paused – a split second – before angling his head the little bit necessary to fuse their mouths together. Then he kissed Sam back – kissed him so damn good that Sam knew he’d be comparing this kiss to every other kiss he’d ever receive. And that all those others would pale in contrast... 

“Sammy, stop,” Dean moaned, when Sam had to pull away. It was either that or asphyxiate, though Sam could think of worse ways to go... God, Dean was being such a hypocrite. He wanted this as much as Sam did! That kiss – and the tire iron in Dean's pants – said so.

Sam ducked down to tongue the hollow of his brother’s throat. “Can’t stop. “ He drifted lower still to laser in on Dean’s left nipple. “Want you so damn much,” he breathed, tonguing the rigid pink peak. 

Man, he _really_ needed to work on the dirty talk thing. It was embarrassing how bad he was at it. “Resistance is futile,” Sam leered, struck by sudden inspiration. Ha. Star Trek _ruled_. Dean could shove that Star Wars crap right up his ass. 

A strangled sound, half snort, half laugh, had Sam glancing up at Dean’s face.

“The borg?” his brother asked, incredulity making his eyebrows arc. “ _Really?_ ”

Sam decided to ignore the ST slight and instead took a nice big chunk of Dean’s skin between his teeth. Dean’s hands tightened in Sam’s hair. Not pushing away exactly – more like hanging on. Sam tugged one of those hands off his head, plucking a few brown strands of hair out in the process, and shoved it down between his thighs.

“No, Sam!” 

He thrust desperately against the tight fist Dean had immediately made out of his hand. 

“No,” his brother growled again.

“Yes!” Sam bit a big bruise onto his brother’s torso. “Help me, Dean,” Sam whimpered. "Fuck, _please_ , just—”

It may have been the ‘please.’ Or perhaps it was the sheer desperation in Sam’s voice. Whatever it was, Dean made his own desperate sound and unclenched his fingers, allowing Sam’s cock to nudge into his sweat-damp palm.

Sam threw his head back as his brother’s hand closed around him. He pumped his hips. 

Once. 

Twice.  

A few hundred times? 

It wasn’t enough. Not even close. 

“More,” Sam gasped, fumbling at his brother’s belt buckle. “Want you inside me.”

Dean’s expression was priceless. Lust and panic in just about equal proportion. “No,” he said. Again. “ _No_.” This time he seemed to mean it since he knocked Sam’s fingers away from his zipper. “My pants stay on.”

 “Kind of hard to fuck me with your pants on, don’t you think, braniac?”

“Yeah,”   Dean agreed. “I do. Which is _why_ they’re staying on, dumbass.” He rolled them both so that he had the upper position. And that was alright – all the better for Sam to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist and hump him silly. 

“Sam!” Dean yelped, his voice coming out about six octaves higher than usual. “Cut it _out_!”

Sam paid no attention. He just continued to grind his cock into his big brother’s crotch while trying to tear Dean’s clothes the rest of the way off at the same time. Not an easy task. He  only managed to get Dean’s jeans half undone. A high, desperate keening was coming out of Sam’s mouth and he couldn’t seem to make it stop! He sounded like a horny teakettle for crying out loud! 

“Sam stop! Just st—Jesus!” Dean reared up and off his writhing brother. His baby brother whose big hand had just wriggled all the way inside his underwear. 

Dean’s cock slid quicksilver through Sam’s fingers, the briefest, most tantalizing of glides before his brother leapt from the mattress.   Sam could have wept with frustration. Oh, wait. He was already weeping. “Dean!” 

“Fuck!” was Dean’s super-unhelpful rejoinder. He stumbled over to his duffel bag, flung in a far-off corner. 

Sam was fast losing the ability to form full and complete sentences so his, “What the hell are you doing!?” just came out as “Whahhhell!”

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean muttered, hustling his ass back. “I gotcha.” 

Sam’s cock throbbed when he saw what his brother held. 

Handcuffs. 

Dean was some kind of sexual savant, surely, because nothing else could have made Sam’s dick any harder than seeing his brother holding a set of handcuffs and knowing they were for _him._  He held up his arms eagerly, but Dean only took one of Sam’s wrists in hand. The left one. He lifted it above Sam’s head, cuffed it, and clicked the free manacle over the pitted brass knob of the bed’s ancient headboard. Then he picked up the clear bottle he’d tossed onto the bed beside Sam’s scissoring legs. 

When Dean popped the lid, the summer-sweet scent of coconut and pineapple filled the air. 

Sam strained his head to read the label. He laughed before he could help himself. Pina Colada flavoured motion lotion? Seriously, why the _fuck_ did Dean have a huge-ass bottle of Pina Colada flavoured motion lotion in his bag?

“It was on sale,” Dean said before Sam could ask. “Shaddup.” His color was high, making each tiny freckle stand out like a Rorschach blot on his gold-kissed cheekbones. 

Sam grinned.   “Hey, whatever floats your Jamaican holiday cruise line, man,” he said, finding his voice again because, really, this was just too good to pass up.

Dean’s gorgeous lips curved up in a smirk so sexy Sam’s breath caught in his throat to receive it.  “Yeah, or yours,” he pointed out, taking hold of Sam’s free right hand  to pour a big, slippery dollop of lubricant right in the middle of it. “You ever used this stuff to jack off with, Sammy?” Dean asked. He lowered Sam’s hand and encouraged it to close around his rampant erection; Dean’s fingers warm and intimate over Sam’s own. “It’ll blow your mind,” he leaned in to whisper, just above Sam’s ear.

Nah.  Sam was more a Vaseline type. But who the hell cared? Pina Colada motion lotion would work just fine. He twisted his hand out from under Dean’s so that now his brother’s fingers circled the painfully stiff flesh. “Show me,” he whispered back, catching Dean’s earlobe between his teeth.

Dean moaned. “Jesus, don’t tempt me.” He tried to tug his hand away.

“Like you tempted me?” Sam’s fingers tightened over Dean’s, holding firm – trying to get Dean to give him a proper stroke. Dean was having none of it.   “Dean,” Sam growled. “This is your fucking fault. Fix it already!” 

And, yeah, Sam knew it wasn’t entirely Dean’s fault. Or – okay, fine! – wasn’t at _all_ Dean’s fault. Dean hadn’t drugged him, and he certainly wasn’t responsible for Sam’s twisted, incestuous psyche, but... screw it. Sam was willing to do - to say -whatever it took to get Dean to give him what he needed. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean hissed. Sam heard the capitulation in his brother’s tone. Defeat and maybe just a hint of relief. Thank Christ!  

Before Sam could voice that thought, and possibly ruin everything, Dean’s hand moved. One swift, sure stoke from the root of Sam’s cock to the very tip. 

So... it turns out motion lotion heats up with – you guessed it – motion. Damned if it didn’t feel like Sam was fucking into a hot, slippery body and not his brother’s work-rough palm. His back arched, straining the muscles of his cuffed arm as his free hand twisted into Dean’s hair, raising his brother’s mouth to meet his. “Need more,” he begged, biting at Dean’s beautiful, kiss swollen lips. “If you won’t fuck _me,_ then let me fuck you.”

Dean’s gasp was stifled by Sam’s mouth.   He ground his cock into Sam’s hip, his fingers moving fast and rough over Sam’s hyper-sensitive flesh.   It was painful. Wonderful.  “No,” Dean said, yet a-fucking-gain. Jeez, did the guy know any other word? “This is plenty bad enough.” He gave Sam one more bruising kiss before slithering down his baby brother’s body. His tongue lapped at Sam’s throat, his lips skimmed Sam's collarbone and, finally, his teeth found one of Sam’s nipples. 

He wasn’t gentle about it. 

Fuck!! This was worse than in the shower. Sam was so bloody close, but he couldn’t come! 

Pain came in waves, rolling from deep in Sam’s belly. But everything in Sam’s head was all messed up, so that it suddenly felt amazingly good to be hurting so damn _bad_. “Dean,” Sam whined. “Fuck, I need—fuck... _Fuck!_ ”

“Christ, Sammy.” Dean rocked his forehead against Sam’s sweat-slick chest, his fist violently pistoning his cock.  “Just _come_ already.” The hand which had been busy holding Sam’s hips down crept between his brother's legs. They both moaned as Dean’s index finger slipped through the lube that had pooled in Sam’s ass crack to gently circle his sphincter. 

Sam spread his legs wide and lifted his ass in a desperate invitation. “Do it!”  One long, blunt finger breached Sam’s body. He cried out and thrust into the now lax fist still circling his dick. “More,” he pleaded. “Two.”

Dean sounded like he’d just run a marathon, he was panting so hard.  “Just...just get used to one first, baby. Okay?” 

Sam had never heard that particular pitch to his brother’s voice before. Low and gravel rough.  It sounded like Dean was losing it. Goosebumps chased across Sam's skin.  Oh, to see that.  To be responsible for that!  “Two, Dean,” he insisted, panting just as hard. His head thrashed. How was it possible to ride the edge of orgasm for so fucking _long?_  “And keep talking. Love your...your...oh, fuck...your goddamn voice...” he moaned, nearly incoherent.

Dean got his knees underneath him and knelt up between Sam’s legs. His forehead creased as he looked down at his brother. Sam’s legs were akimbo. Wide open. The hand not currently cuffed to the headboard roamed his sculpted chest, continually circling back to pluck at the tiny brown stones of his nipples.  “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” Dean sighed, the words so thick they were almost unintelligible. A second finger joined the first inside Sam’s body. Dean delved deep, until his palm was crushing Sam’s balls and those fingers were fondling Sam’s prostate. He found a gentler rhythm on Sam’s penis - tender, twisting strokes. “Come, baby,” he begged. “Come now.”   

Tears coursed down Sam’s face. The exquisite pressure built and built...and kept right on building. “Can’t,” he moaned. 

“Sssshit, Sammy!” 

Dean took his hand away from Sam’s cock to cruelly pinch the nipple Sam wasn’t currently mauling while, at the same time, forcing a third blunt finger into his brother’s virgin-tight ass. 

Sam’s lips peeled back from his teeth. He sobbed in pained pleasure as he fucked his brother’s fingers, hips shamelessly thwacking off the cheap hotel mattress.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Dean chanted.  "Please, baby, come.  Come for _me."_

 

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

Dean searched his mind for something – _anything_ – he could say to push Sam over the edge. This had to end before he just gave in and fucked his beautiful baby brother senseless. And that _could not_ be allowed to happen! 

 “I wanna pierce these pretty brown nips,” he said, grasping at straws. Sam had said he’d gotten off on the games Dean played with Sylvie. Well, alright then.  Dean could work with that. “Keep em’ hard all the time. Maybe string a chain between ‘em and lead you around by it.” Oh, fuck, yeah. Sam would make one _hell_ of a sexy sub. Leather. Whips, even. Sam hard and begging... 

_What?  What the_ fuck _?_ His mind shot back.    _He’s your brother, Dean, not your fucking sex slave!_  And it was as if his brain _finally_ caught up to what was happening. Here he was finger fucking his brother – his _baby_ brother – and imagining Sam trussed up in leather and collars and Lord knows what else, and _Goddamn it!_ he couldn’t prevent his mind from wandering down ever hotter, and more twisted paths. Couldn’t stop reaming his fingers into his brother’s fucking _gorgeous_ body...

Dean’s nail bit a deep, blood-red crescent into Sam’s nipple. 

Sam gasped his brother’s name. 

“And I’m gonna get a collar for your neck,” Dean growled, practically beside himself with lust and guilt.  _Come you beautiful bastard!_  he silently begged. His hand moved up to circle Sam’s throat. Dean squeezed until he knew shooting stars pin-wheeled behind Sam’s tightly shut eyes. Knew because he’d been there himself. Been right there, in Sam’s sluttily-splayed, desperately-driven position. 

Dean leaned in close again to catch Sam’s lower lip between his teeth. He bit down. Hard. The sweet tang of copper tasted like permission... 

Fuck, he was losing it. Losing himself _to_ it. If Sam didn’t shoot soon, Dean knew he was going to give in – just give in and take what was on offer. He wanted to so bad. 

_Please, baby,_ his mind gibbered.    _Come before I do something we’ll_ both _regret!_  

Sam quaked and moaned and rode his brother’s fingers with every ounce of strength his body possessed. Which was a lot, by the way. Dean’s wrist felt like it was gonna snap from how much pressure was being exerted against it. Sam was covered in sweat...

...and blood. 

Blood not just on his mouth, but all over him. The shower had apparently re-opened the slash on Sam's elbow, and then, of course, there was the blood from Dean’s own battle with the gritty asphalt. Crimson streaked his brother’s entire torso. It made him look feral. Primal. So fucking beautiful it hurt.     

“Would you wear a collar for me, Sammy?” Dean asked, way beyond censoring himself as he licked at the red welling from Sam’s lips. “Let the whole world know you’re my bitch?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open. He grimaced, bared his teeth, and Dean thought he might have gone that one figurative inch too far. Oh, but he wanted Sam to say yes. Probably more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life. His heart galloped as he waited on his brother’s reply. 

Then Sam bared his neck, too, allowing Dean free access to do whatever he pleased. Perfect trust.   

Perfect submission...  

Dean let up the pressure.

“You know I would,” Sam gasped.

Dean shuddered. Christ, it was so fucking wrong how right this felt. “And would you let me spank you?” he moaned, both dismayed and insanely turned on at the same time. Sam was too trusting – the temptation too much. “Whip you?”  His hand left the submissive curve of Sam’s throat and found its way back to his brother’s cock. 

The brutally firm stroke of flesh against flesh became Sam's blessed undoing. "Deeean!” he cried, arching into the caress. His shaft thickened and swelled impossibly harder. “Oh, fuck me,” Sam wailed. “Dean!”

“Yeah, baby,” Dean whispered. “I want that too.” Then he ducked down and swallowed Sam’s prick all the way to the base, massaging his brother’s prostate with the tips of his fingers while thrumming Sam’s cock-head with the flat of his tongue.

***

 

The brass knob holding Sam’s arm hostage popped off  – unable to withstand the strength of his ecstatic convulsions. He immediately dropped both hands to Dean’s bent head, keeping his brother impaled as jet after thick, wet jet shot down Dean’s open throat. And, oh, Jesus Fuck! Sam thought he might pass out the pleasure was so intense! 

Sam’s body eventually unclenched. He moaned as the final few soul-deep tremors wracked his frame and his hands slipped off Dean’s head, allowing the man up for some much needed air if his wheezing gasps were anything to go by. “God, Dean, that was fucking _amazing!”_

Dean smiled, kind of/sort of, and nibbled on Sam’s hipbone – drawing out yet another full-body shiver. 

“I think I’m going to tattoo your name right there,” Sam said. “On my hip.” He glanced down to grin at his brother. “So that everyone who sees me naked knows I’m ‘your _bitch_ ,’” he explained, throwing Dean’s naughty words right back at him.

Dean chuffed a laugh and his way-too-tense muscles relaxed. He crawled back up the bed to end up lying beside Sam with his head propped up on one hand. “Yeah? And I suppose you want me to get a tattoo, too? You know, you being such a possessive cunt, and all.” He placed a palm in the center of Sam’s broad chest. The casual touch seemed to calm him even more.

Sam’s grin widened until he knew his dimples were showing . “You bet I do.” He turned into his older brother’s arms to speak the words while rubbing his mouth against Dean’s. The taste of himself on those plush, firm, formerly taboo lips made him groan . His cock, which hadn’t quite softened, twitched and began to grow firm yet again. “Right over your heart,” Sam flicked his tongue into Dean’s mouth between words, “so that everyone who sees _you_ naked will know you love _me_ more than them.” 

A beat of silence.  Sam winced. He hadn’t really meant to say that. Knowing something was one thing, saying it out loud, however...  

Stupid drugs – still fucking him up. 

Ah, but then Dean chuckled and hummed in agreement – making Sam’s heart swell near to bursting with love for the damn guy. Sam’s palm, which had flattened itself over Dean’s left pec in perfect mimicry, now dropped down to grope his brother’s ass. “Or here,” Sam said, striving to keep things easy and sweet between them. “As in – this ass is mine.”

 “Ha. You wish.”  Dean rolled over onto his back, pulling his younger brother on top of him.

“Umm, yeah...” Sam’s tone was wry. “I think we’ve already established that.”

Before Dean could come up with a witty rejoinder, Sam rocked his hips against Dean’s still _very_ hard cock. “Your turn,” he murmured, his hand going to the waist of his brother’s jeans.

Dean’s hands followed right quick. “No, Sam—”

Sam sighed. He should have acted sooner, before Dean got himself back under control. Lesson learned. You can be damned sure he wouldn’t be making that mistake again! 

“Dean, give me a break,” Sam cajoled. He fought the stranglehold his brother had on his wrists. “You just had your fingers up my ass and my cock down your throat, you’re not _really_ going all puritanical on me now, are you?”

Dean turned bright red. All over. Which was so freakin’ cute Sam just wanted to lick him like a lollypop...   All over.

“Sam...” 

Sam gave up trying to get the jeans down and simply grabbed Dean’s hard-on through his half-open fly. Dean gasped and bucked into the touch before he could seem to stop himself. “Sam, no!”  he hissed through gritted teeth. “This...this drug...it’s  messing with...it’s...  Ah, fuck...”

Sam had hooked his index finger through the waistband of Dean’s underwear and tugged down. Dean’s cock sproinged out like it wanted to be let loose. Like it had, in fact, just been waiting for the chance to break free. Sam chuckled at that thought. The poor thing. Dean’s big head was fucking with his little head’s fun. Hmm.  First time for everything, Sam supposed, bending to lave his tongue all around the swollen pink crown. 

Which was when Dean’s pointless tirade stuttered to a stop. 

He let Sam go at it for a second. One long, wonderful second before his fist snarled in Sam’s hair and yanked his brother’s head away. It felt good, actually. A sexy stab of pain. Sam really wanted Dean’s cock in his mouth, though. “Deeean,” he begged. “ _Please!”_  

 

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

Sam could seehow turned on his big brother was.  Hell, his livid-red, iron-hard dick was just inches from Sam’s mouth, leaking big fat tears of frustration.  But Dean had _that_ look on his face.  The one that said, ‘This far and not one inch farther!’  

Dean rarely got it – that look – and almost never with his brother.  That didn’t mean Sam didn’t recognize the stupid thing, however.  He started talking fast.  Begging, cajoling – whatever it took to get that goddamned look off his brother’s face.  

“Look, Dean, you’re totally right.  It’s the drugs.”  It couldn’t end like this!  “It’s... fuck, Dean, please...” Sam panted.  “Just let me... His hands were frantic on Dean’s hips and thighs.  “I mean...hey,” he tried, “we probably won’t remember any of this in the morning, anyway...right?”  

At those magic words, Dean’s grip slacked off just enough for Sam to take another lick.  Sam whined in delight, lapping happily at the pre-come slicking his brother’s crown, before Dean let out a wretched groan and yanked him off again.  

Fuck no!  It wasn’t ending like this!  

Sam lunged forward and took Dean halfway down his throat before his brother could stop him.  Never mind that a hunk of hair didn’t come with the rest of him.  Totally worth it.  

Dean’s head thudded into the mattress.  “Sam!” he cried. 

Sam took Dean’s moment of distraction to peel his brother’s pants down past his knees.  Dean’s thighs immediately splayed.  His fingers carded through Sam’s hair, cradling the back of his skull, holding him in place, even as his other hand slapped over his eyes.  “Goddamn you!” he moaned, his face a mask of guilt-laced ecstasy.  

Sam groaned around his mouthful.  Spittle ran down Dean’s shaft as Sam’s head bobbed and he spread some of the convenient slick down over his brother’s balls to lightly trace his sphincter.  Dean’s ass clenched, trapping Sam right there.  His thighs tensed.  “Jesus,” he choked.   “I’m gonna—”

Shit.  As much as Sam wanted to see that, he wanted something else so much more.

Dean hollered and made a grab for him as Sam slipped away and sat up.   Heh.  Too slow, Deano.  

“Dude,” Sam’s brother gasped, shocked.  “You’re stopping _now?_ What the _fuck!?”_

“Hang on.” Sam’s hands trembled as he took Dean’s pants the rest of the way off.  He found the lube tangled in the bedding by his knee and pulled it free.  

Dean’s eyes were blown wide open.  He shook his head when Sam popped the lid.  “No,” he muttered, even as his cock juddered and jerked, apparently excited as hell at the idea.

“Yes.”

Sam smoothed the slimy, pineapple-scented liquid down Dean’s shaft.  Dean’s eyelashes fluttered.  “Sam...” 

“The drugs made us do it,” Sam reminded.  He swung his leg over Dean’s body to straddle his hips.  “We won’t even remember.”  

Dean’s face crumpled when his brother pulled his dick away from his stomach.  “ _Sam_ —”

“Shhhh.  It’s okay,” Sam insisted.  “It’s fine.”  As Sam lined his brother up to his already conveniently stretched hole, Dean quaked with what one could only hope was lust too strong to be denied.  

Sam had had enough denial to last a lifetime, thanks.  

“Sam, we _can’t_!”

Sam pushed determinedly down.  Dean’s hips rolled helplessly up.  

The feel of Dean’s cock stretching him wide had Sam’s head falling back into the cradle of his shoulders.  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed.  “Fuck, yeah, we can.”  He sank down even further, until there was nowhere left for him to go.  Dean gasped and Sam’s head fell forward once more.  His brother was staring up at him in shock, his lush mouth fallen wide open.  Sam smoothed the lube left on his fingers all around those amazing, plush lips, making them shine.  “God, I love your mouth,” he told Dean yet again, leaning forward to claim his glistening prize.

When Sam’s tongue tangled with his, Dean finally got with the program and began to thrust.  Thank Christ.  And it was just as good as Sam had known it would be.  Soooo damn good.  Dean was aggressive as hell.  He held Sam down, fully impaled, as his hips snapped off the mattress, carrying both their weight. “Sam,” he kept moaning, raping his baby brother’s mouth between fraught repetitions.  “Sam...Sam...Sam...”    

Dean’s hard body pounding into him, his strong arms crushing them so close together, his amazing, beautiful mouth ripping Sam’s heart apart one tongue swipe at a time.  Sam couldn’t breathe.   It was too much.  _Too_ damn good.   “Dean!” he broke away to wail.  

“I’m right here, baby.” Dean bit at the taut tendons of Sam’s throat.  “Stay with me.”

 Always.  Didn’t even have to be said.  When Sam grabbed his brother’s face to mash their mouths together again – breathing really was highly overrated – his gaze got snared by Dean’s lips once more.  They were so swollen now.  So red.  So slick...  

“So pretty,” Sam sighed.  Instead of his tongue, Sam slipped a finger inside his brother’s mouth.  ”Wanna see you in lipstick,” he confessed.  “Red, shiny, lip—”   He whimpered as Dean’s tongue moved over the finger and kind of lost track of what he’d been saying. 

 “Is that so?” Dean’s hips slowed while he bent to the task of giving Sam’s finger the best darn sucking of its’ life.

Sam tried to melt into a pile of blissfully horny goo but Dean held him up, still rocking firm into his body.  “Mmmyah,” he groaned, instead.    Dean’s eyes twinkled at his brother’s obvious inability to focus on anything but the way his mouth was moving over him.  Sexy sparkly-green eyes...  

“Eyeliner too,” Sam husked.  A vision of his brother in smoky black eyeliner and cherry-red lipgloss popped into his mind.  Cherry lipgloss that would leave a perfect red ring around the base of his ... “Oh, God!” he gasped.  The hand not currently finger-fucking his brother’s hot, hot mouth wrapped tight around his own dick.  Sam’s spine bowed.   Oh, God, he was going to shoot again!  That had to be some kind of record, right?    

“No, Sam!  You don’t get to come again until I do.” Dean slapped Sam’s hand away, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked him forward to slash their mouths back together.  “You’re _such_ a little bitch,” he muttered between orgiastic swipes of his quick-silver tongue.  “Greedy!”  His fingers clamped down on Sam’s ass, keeping him immobile to the snapping strokes of his cock.  “Never could take no for an answer.”  His teeth caught at Sam’s lower lip, shredding the fragile skin even further.  Sam moaned like the love-sick slut he was. “So fucking _spoiled_!”  Dean growled, the words sounding torn from somewhere deep down inside him.  His fingers turned cruel in Sam’s hair, on his skin.  Another frantic tangle of tongue.  

 “Yeah,” Sam whimpered, clutching at the broad muscles of Dean’ shoulders.  “You’ve always spoiled me, Dean.”  

“I know.”  Dean hammered into Sam, so fierce that all the younger man could do was hold on.  Hold on and groan in ecstasy.  His dick was trapped between their stomachs, riding roughshod over the ripples of Dean’s abs.  Electric pleasure gathered and swirled at the base of his spine.  Man, this was _everything_ Sam had hoped for.  The utter embodiment of every wet dream he’d ever had.  Any fucking second now...  

Then Dean twisted their legs together and rolled them both over.  The change in angles chafed the insides of Sam’s ass.  Pre-come flowed in a continuous clear stream his straining cockhead.  Without even thinking, Sam reached between them once more.   One quick pull would be enough—

Dean caught his brother’s treacherous hands and slammed them above his head.  “And yet you _still_ don’t listen for shit, do you?” he said.  

This new position gave Dean _all_ the leverage.  And the man certainly knew how to use it.  It was almost machine-like the way he pistoned into Sam’s body – each stroke hard and fast and agonizingly true.  Dean had missed his calling.  Sam’s brother was a great hunter, sure, but he was a goddamned _amazing_ lover.   

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” Dean asked.  Instead of growling he was purring now.  Purring and biting.  Chin, jaw, throat...  

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head.  He was going to die, he realized.  Right here.  Right now.  Because there was just no way anyone could survive this kind of pleasure.    

“Your big brother holding you down?”  Dean clarified, voice dirty and low.  “Fucking you raw?”

 Their fingers snarled together, Sam’s white-knuckled.  Oh Jesus.  Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!  “Yes,” Sam cried. “Yes!”

Dean drew Sam’s hands down and forced them under his baby brother’s back, cross-armed, so that Sam’s spine arched and his chest thrust up.  The position was uncomfortable.  Sam’s shoulders immediately began to ache as his hips and ass were pushed down against the mattress, making Dean’s cock feel even thicker than it was.  When it really hadn’t needed any help in that department.  

“Me too,” Dean whispered.  “God help me, me too.”  Which was when Sam realized why his brother had put him in such a weird position in the first place.  It was so he could get his mouth on Sam’s nipples.

 Sharp, white teeth went to work on the sensitive nubs of flesh.  No screwing around, either – Dean bit like he meant it.  He bit to wound...

And that was pretty much _that_ , as far as Sam was concerned.  “Oh, Fuck!” he wailed, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist to pull his brother in even closer, which crushed his own throbbing cock between them and had the bonus benefit of burying Dean’s dick deep enough to hammer his prostate.  “I love you! he said, or rather sobbed, raining kisses down on Dean’s shoulders and throat as the first exquisite pulses of pleasure crashed into him.  “Fuck, Dean, I love you so much!”

Dean’s hips stuttered.  His hands let loose their death-grip on Sam’s fingers as his head came up, eyes wide and dark.  “Sammy!” he gasped.  

And then he was coming, too.  

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

Dean lay there like dead weight on his brother, his hands trembling as they stroked over Sam’s skin. “Sammy,” he whispered, over and over again.  “Jesus, Sammy.”  Dean couldn’t _believe_ what they’d just done.   Christ!  It was wrong - so wrong. 

And yet it had _felt_...Could that be blamed on the drugs too?  How it felt like Dean had been waiting his entire life to be buried inside his brother’s body?  How it had been the most breathtaking, amazing thing he’d ever experienced?  “He groaned, rocking his forehead against Sam’s chest.  “Jesus,” he said again.  “What the hell have we—”

“Dean, don’t.”  Sam’s hands were equally possessive – equally needy – roaming Dean’s back and shoulders.  “The guilt.  The blame...”  He twitched his hips back allowing his brother’s softening dick to slip from his ass.  Dean gasped at the movement, the slick twist of releasing muscle so intimate on his hyper-sensitive cock.   “We can do all that tomorrow, if you really insist.” Sam hauled Dean up his come slick chest to press an almost chaste kiss to his lips.  “But tonight...just...”  He pulled back a little bit to be able to look Dean in the eye. “...just don’t, okay?” 

Hazel eyes flicked back and forth between green ones.  The vulnerability on his younger brother’s face was heart wrenching.  Dean grimaced.  He knew what Sam wanted.  What he was really asking... and though Dean had never denied his Sammy anything – not one goddamned thing in their entire lives – he had to deny him this.  “No.  There’ll be no blame, Sam,” he said.  “No recriminations.”  Dean brushed Sam’s wet hair back from his temple.  “Because we’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow,” he reminded oh-so-gently.  

Which was a complete load of crap.  

Dean had done ‘X’ a number of times, and while he may have _wished_ he couldn’t recall all the stupid shit he’d gotten up to night before, he’d always remembered every  second with crystal-clear clarity.  If anything, the drug made the recollections stronger, more vivid... He ducked his head to kiss Sam’s collarbone, marked up so nice by Dean’s own teeth.  “I think I’m gonna take a shower,” he murmured, raising himself off his brother’s body.  It felt like they were in a sauna, the room was so hot.  Sweat gleamed on both of them, soaking their hair and making Sam’s honey-hued skin shine like burnished gold.  Beautiful...  

Dean gave his head a shake.  No.  Stop it.  Time to turn this shit off.  Okay, fine.  It happened.  Too late to close the barn door after spilling the milk...or whatever.  But it was over now!

Sam rolled off the bed once Dean was clear.  “I’m thirsty,” he announced, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting it. He found the cuff key and freed his wrist.   “Where’s that water?”

Dean looked up from yanking on his underwear and found himself once again admiring his pretty, pretty sibling – not even two seconds after he’d sworn _never again_.   _Damn it all to hell._   The guy was gorgeous, for Christ’s sake – limbs long and muscular.  Beautiful fey face.  It simply wasn’t fair!  Who _wouldn’t_ look at Sam Winchester and imagine...

“Dean?”  Sam was pulling on his jeans, careless of the blood and come still sliming his skin.  “Water?” he asked again, glancing around for something to wipe off with.  He settled on Dean’s shredded shirt.

“No, thanks, I’m okay,” Dean said.  Yeah, except he was getting hard.  Again.  Nothin’ okay about that.  

“Dude, pay attention...”  Sam's chin was lowered as he swabbed off his stomach.  He raised just his eyes, a hot glimmer of light behind the tangled strands of his bangs.  “I was asking...”  Here Sam trailed off.  Then he smiled; a small yet somehow sly smile.  He licked his lips real obvious.

Dean knew he should turn away.  Why wasn’t he turning away?  He was just standing there like a moron staring at his wicked hot brother.  _Turn away now, Dean.  C’mon, man, work with me_ , his brain pleaded.

“Gum?” Sam asked, instead of finishing his previous sentence. The smile widened until his dimples appeared.  Funny, he didn’t sound like Yoda now.  His voice was way low.  Way sexy.  Dean’s cock twitched up past half-mast.  

Sam fished a pack of Juicy Fruit out of his front pocket.  He unwrapped the piece of gum, opened his mouth nice and slow, and folded the stick onto his wet pink tongue. 

Aaaand.  Yep.  Dean was rock-hard again.  

Sam stepped around the bed, right into Dean’s personal space, grabbed his brother’s hips and hauled him against his body.  His lips were on Dean’s before Dean could muster the good sense to pull away.  Candy-sweet exploded in his mouth.  Dean groaned and kissed Sam back, unable to stop himself.  His brother was a damn good kisser.  Possibly the best kisser in the world.  Not fair _at all_.

Sam was smirking when he raised his head a long moment later.  Dean rolled the gum he now found himself with against his front teeth.

“Where’s the _water_ , Dean?”  Sam asked yet again, his eyes twinkling as he rocked his groin against his older brothers.  

Dean groped his ass.  “Ummm,” he mumbled, eyes meandering around the room.  Sam suckled on his earlobe while he thought.  Totally distracting.   “I don’t...” he began, tilting his head further to the right for Sam’s talented mouth.  “Umm...”  Sam’s hot, wet tongue darted into his ear.  “Fuck,” Dean groaned.

“Water?” Sam purred.  He tongue fucked Dean’s ear again and Dean’s knees trembled.  That was okay though, Sam seemed more than willing to hold him up.

“Outside,” Dean managed, cradling the back of his brother’s skull.  “I think I left it...”  Sam’s big hand caught in the short hair at Dean’s nape, yanking his head back.  “...outside...Ahhhh, Christ!” Dean’s leg came up, completely without his consent, to hook his brother’s calf.

Sam chuckled, the sound sinful  – so fucking hot – and gave Dean’s jaw line one more lick before pushing his leg down and stepping away.  “Hold that thought.” Then didn’t the bastard turn away, casually fishing another stick of gum out of his pocket as he headed for the door.

Dean swayed for a second, stunned that Sam had wound him up this tight, this damn fast.  It should have been impossible.  Dean had just busted a nut so hard he’d thought his heart was gonna stop, but here he was...  

Christ, would this night never end?  

He managed to get his legs working and headed into the bathroom with some thought to just barring himself inside until the sun came up.  But when he went to flick the lock, Dean saw the shattered doorjamb and remembered that he’d broken the stupid thing down in his mad dash to get to his brother. 

Fuck.

***

Dean didn’t hear Sam come in.  The first hint he had of his brother’s presence was when the warm water sluicing down his back suddenly turned chill.  He swivelled his head to see Sam upending a full water bottle over his skin.  Had he really thought this was over?   Dean sighed.  No.  Not really.  “Dude, don’t waste that,” he said, swivelling the rest of his body too, to open his mouth to the cold flow.

Sam’s brows arced but he obligingly tilted the remainder of the bottle over Dean’s lips.  As Dean swallowed, Adam’s Apple bobbing, lips plush and innocent against the rim of the bottle, Sam’s breath caught.  “Jesus,” he rasped.  “Are you this sexy on purpose, or is it just a natural—”

Dean’s tongue slid out to trace the bottle’s rim.  Sam’s eyes flickered black.  He tossed the empty bottle away.  “On purpose,” he groaned, crowding Dean back against the stall wall.  “I fuckin’ _knew_ it.”  His hands got busy, cupping, squeezing, mauling.  “All those times you made me crazy, and I thought maybe you didn’t know, didn’t realize what you were doing to me...”

Huh?  No. Wait.  That wasn’t right.  Dean had _never_ meant to ...  How could Sam even think...  But then he flashed back to that summer – when Sam had just turned fourteen.  The kid had been half-hard most of the time and bitchy _all_ the time.  So Dean had let Sam catch him watching porn and jacking off, just to show the poor schmuck what to do with all that hormonal frustration.  

Man, Dean would never forget the look that had crossed his brother’s handsome young face when he’d walked in to find Dean sprawled naked on the couch – or the groan that had come out of his brother’s sexy young mouth.  Dean had come.  Right then.  With Sam’s wide-eyed gaze glued to his spurting cock...   

Ah, but that didn’t count, surely.  _That_ was a goddamn accident.  Still, though, _why_ had he come so hard?  The question had disturbed Dean off and on a few times over the years.  I mean, really, it wasn’t normal to shoot like a rocket when your kid brother groaned and licked his lips while watching you jerk off...  Was it?

As Dean angsted about whether or not he had, in fact, sexually tormented his baby brother while they were growing up.  Sam grabbed his froufrou AXE body wash and began to lather Dean up.  Princess even had a sponge.  

Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to protest the fact that he was being pampered like a chick and would now smell like Sam for the rest of the day.  Sam smelled pretty damn good, after all.  And wasn’t nothin’ wrong with a little pampering coming his way for a change.  “Never teased you on purpose, Sammy,” he protested, whisper-soft, head lolling as Sam knelt to wash his legs and feet.  All at once, Dean was so relaxed he felt comatose – if a coma patient could still be unbelievably horny that was. 

Sam paused to look up at Dean, disbelief written all over his face.  “Right.”  He snorted.  “All those time you made out with whatever random girl was willing when you _knew_ I could see you.  Hear you.”  He nudged Dean’s calves apart and went to work on his cock and balls, making it pretty hard for Dean to keep up a conversation.  

Dean’s eyes slipped shut.  He groaned and spread even further.

“I think you _liked_ knowing I was watching,” Sam went on.  His fingers crept back to trace Dean’s hole.  “I think it got you off.”

“No.” Dean's hand landed on Sam’s hair, gently encouraging brother’s mouth into contact with his cock.  Screw right and wrong, he needed this.  Needed Sam.  Tomorrow could take care of its own damn self.

  “Yes,” Sam argued.  He turned his head so that it was his cheek that stroked across his brother’s straining flesh.  “Just admit it.”  His finger delved inside Dean’s body, only the tip.

Dean’s hips rocked back into the caress.  No!  That wasn’t how it was.  He hadn’t...  

Images tumbled freefall through his mind.  How often he’d looked up to find Sam’s eyes on him – those beautiful, cat-like hazel eyes.  How hard it had always made him to know Sam was watching.  How much better it was when he came...  “Ahhh, fuck, maybe,” he admitted.  To his brother.  To himself.  

“Maybe...” 

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

  
Author's notes: Sorry, again, for the delay. This fic is just taking way too long to finish. :(  


* * *

Sam’s heart leapt.   It wasn’t like ‘maybe’ was a declaration of undying love or anything. Hell ‘maybe’ wasn’t really _anything_. Only, Sam thought that ‘maybe’ it was. Sam had the feeling that ‘maybe’ could very well be the beginning of...

Everything. 

He slid his finger further into his brother’s relaxed body. “Maybe,” he repeated, going deep to find Dean’s prostate. He ducked his head to swallow Dean’s prick at the same time. Dean groaned and Sam smiled around his mouthful. ‘For now, ‘maybe’ was enough.  He added a second finger, stroking, stretching, because if Sam did only end up with the one night then, by God, he was fulfilling every fantasy he could, and Dean writhing on the end of his cock was way up there in the _must have_ rankings.

“Sam,” Dean gasped. His hands clenched in Sam’s hair. “Fuck that feels good.  I had no idea—”

Sam swallowed. Hard. Was Dean saying what Sam thought he was? “None?” he pulled back to ask. “You’ve never been with a man?”

Dean’s eyes slitted open. “Didn’t say that _,_ bro.” His hands softened again, petting the tangled, wet strands behind his brother’s ears. He seemed to notice for the first time that Sam was still in his jeans. The sight made him chuckle. “Couldn’t wait?”

“Wha—”  Sam looked down at himself. Oh, for God’s sake. He slowly pulled himself free of Dean’s clinging heat and stood. Dean’s teeth caught at his lower lip as his brother’s fingers left him, eyes all limpid and heavy, body so relaxed Sam didn’t know how the guy was still standing. He was beautiful like this. Fucked up. Fucked out.

So incredibly beautiful...

In contrast to how careful he’d just been moving, Sam shucked his pants off as fast as he bloody well could. 

And the shit still took way too long. 

It’s just not easy to peel off yards of stiff, soaking wet denim. Sam cursed under his breath. Man, it was really dumb to have leapt into the shower dressed. His only excuse was, well, have you seen Dean Winchester’s ass? Naked? “So what _are_ you saying then?” he growled, yanking Dean against him when he was finally free of the clingy fabric. Ah, yes, that was much, much better.

A familiar expression settled over Dean’s face. His eyes lost some of their indolence to become cunning. His gorgeous lips curled. No one did cocky like Sam’s brother did.  He had it down to a goddamn art form.  “M’sayin I don’t bottom, Sammy,” Dean clarified, nuzzling forward to nibble under his baby brother’s jaw.

Sam fumbled to turn off the shower.  “Haven’t,” he said.

“Hmmm?” Dean’s fingers found Sam’s nipples again while his teeth sank into his throat. What clever, cruel fingers his brother had. Sam did his best not to whimper. He had to be strong. Dean responded to strength— 

Struck by sudden inspiration, Sam bent his knees and caught Dean under his thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted his brother against him, completely off the ground, and stepped out of the tub. Dean reared back in surprise, almost unbalancing them both. When Sam stumbled, Dean’s thighs tightened around his waist. “Dude, what the fuck?” he hissed.

_“Haven’t.”_  Sam said again. He lunged through the bathroom door and tossed Dean onto the nearest bed.  The one still unsullied – though not for long, if Sam had any say in it. Dean’s locked legs made sure that Sam followed his brother down, landing hard on top of him. Sam took immediate advantage of Dean’s grunted loss of breath and grabbed his hands, snarling their fingers together and pulling them up over Dean’s head. “As in, ‘haven’t until now’.” 

Arrogant smirk back in place, Dean stretched underneath Sam, a writhe of taut muscle and silken skin. The full body caress had Sam clenching his jaw in a desperate effort at control. He wasn’t going to thrust. Hell no. Not until it counted. 

“And you figure you got what it takes?” Dean asked. He raised their joined hands even higher so that Sam was laid out flat on top of him, chest to chest, groin to groin. “You gonna hold me down, Sammy?”   Dean’s lips moved hot against Sam’s own. “Gonna make me spread?” 

Completely of their own volition, Sam’s hips rolled forward. Damn it. 

“’Cause you know I will.” All of a sudden, there was something off in Dean’s voice. “I’ll spread nice and wide for that beautiful cock of yours,” he went on, the words sounding ripped from somewhere deep inside him. “Hell, baby boy, for you I’ll even beg.” His teeth caught at Sam’s lower lip, widening the tear. Dean groaned as his tongue flicked over the wound.  “Goddamn you, Sam, for you, I’ll even fucking _beg_.” 

_Jesus Christ!_  

Sam’s breath hitched as his brother’s mouth turned harsh. This was obviously tearing Dean apart. 

So, turns out ‘maybe’ hadn’t really been anything, after all. Sam couldn’t let it be. Not at this cost. Oh, but he couldn’t stop, either. No. Selfish bastard that he was, Sam simply _couldn’t_ make himself do the right thing. Not right now.  Not quite yet. 

One night would just have to be enough – it would have to last a lifetime.

Sam let go of Dean’s fingers and brought his hands down to cup his brother’s face. He took the kiss over. Gentled it. 

It took a minute or two, but by the end, their tongues were dancing instead of duelling. “I love you,” he breathed. “You don’t have to beg, Dean.  Ever.” So saying, he rolled them both into the center of the bed. Dean ended up on top, where he seemed to need to be. “Just don’t hate me tomorrow, okay?” he whispered, crushing his older brother tight against him. “Promise me that.”

Dean laughed into Sam’s skin, the sound more gritted teeth than humour. “But I don’t hate you, kid.” He raised his head. “That’s kind of the problem,” he said, smoothing a knuckle down Sam’s cheekbone. “I could never hate you. You’re my entire—” The knuckle swept across Sam’s bloody lip, drawing a crimson trail on the smooth pink skin. Dean shook his head, grimaced, and switched out what he’d been about to say with, “I thought you _liked_ it when I begged.” 

Sam frowned, caught out. Crap. It was tricky trying to keep up with Dean’s mercurial mood. Normally, Sam knew exactly what was going on in Dean’s head – could read him like the proverbial open book, but the game had changed – all bets were off – and Sam had to be sooo darn careful here. “Yeah, okay,” he said, giving his far too perceptive sibling a gentle smile. “It _is_ kind of a thing for me, but—”

Dean sat up on Sam’s thighs. “Amongst others.” He stroked his hands over Sam’s torso. “Like seeing me in makeup...” His lips curved up at that, catching Sam’s undivided attention. Dean noticed, of course.  He always noticed.  “Like the shape of my mouth,” he astutely observed. His fingers drifted down to Sam’s nipples once again. This time Sam did whimper when his brother tweaked the tiny brown nubs. He’d never had anyone pay so much attention to them before, thus he’d had no _idea_ that they could get this sensitive. Each twist of Dean’s fingers sent both pain and pleasure coursing through his body until it was hard to tell which held dominance. It _all_ felt good. Sam arched into the caress, eyes falling shut, hands clenching around Dean’s thighs. 

“Like being the first man to be inside me,” Dean murmured, the words said so hushed his brother almost didn’t hear them. 

Except he did hear them.

Sam’s eyes shot wide open again. “ _Only_ ,” he snarled before he could restrain himself – maybe tone the possessiveness down a few hundred notches.  He took a deep breath and tried again. “Look, I’m fine with things staying just like this, Dean. I don’t want...I mean expect...” Jeez, it was hard to get this out. He _didn’t_ expect anything, but oh, God, did he ever want! His brother had already given him so much, though – so much more than he’d ever hoped for – there was really no need to be greedy. And never mind that his body vehemently disagreed with _that_ thought because Sam was a big boy. He could deal.  “But you should know,” Sam’s voice dropped way down low – into hunter territory. “If I ever find out that you’ve let someone else have you like that, I _will_ kill them.”

One of Dean’s brows rose at the testosterone-laden threat. “Don’t you mean me?” he asked.  “You’ll kill _me_.”

Sam didn’t bother to respond. He’d meant exactly what he’d said. “Anyway, you’re one to talk,” he said, neatly sidestepping the question while leaning up to circle his tongue over Dean’s own rigid pink nipple. “Mr. Nipple Rings and Dog Collars.”

Dean chuffed in amusement as his hands landed in Sam’s hair once again. The tension in the room eased. Sam grinned against Dean’s skin. “Plus, I think you secretly _love_ my hair,” he joked between swirling licks. “You can’t seem to keep your hands off it.”

At that, Dean laughed outright.  He tugged Sam’s head back by said hair. “Busted,” he acknowledged, eyes sparkling. “But, listen, while you’re listing my kinks, baby brother, don’t forget that what I _really_ want is to take a whip to your pretty white ass.” When Sam’s cock juddered underneath him, Dean’s smile deepened. “You wouldn’t mind bleeding for me, would you, Sammy?” he purred, all deep and alpha male.

Christ! It should be illegal how hot Dean could make himself sound. Sam groaned and tried to widen his thighs for the crazy-sexy bastard sitting on top of him. It was an instinctive move – see, apparently, Sam really was his brother’s bitch. Dean legs were outside of Sam’s, however. Trapping them closed. More’s the pity. “Don’t have a whip,” he husked, mauling Dean’s ass instead. “Maybe your belt?” Sam was trying to capture Dean’s lips but the jerk kept darting his head back. One hand left Dean’s butt to palm the back of his head and make him stay fucking still!

His brother’s gaze trapped Sam’s from less than an inch away. “ _Really?_  You’d let me—”

“Yes! Christ, Dean, whatever you want, whenever you want it. How can you not get that?”

Quick as a snake, Dean closed the tiny distance between them. Sam tried to hold his own, he honestly did, but Dean was all about being in charge right now and, fuck, he was just too damn good at it. Sam let go any pretence of dominance and just settled in to enjoy the ride, his palms slipping lazily over Dean’s skin as his brother ate at his mouth. It was wonderful. Amazing. 

Sam wanted way more. 

“Fuck me again, Dean,” Sam begged, rocking their hips together. “Please. Just one more—” His eyes blinked open in confusion when Dean’s weight abruptly left his body. And the mattress. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting _at all_.   Was Dean freaking out again? Sam relaxed when he saw his brother rise up beside the mattress with the motion lotion clutched in his hand.

“Thought we’d lost it,” Dean said. “But it just rolled under the bed.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need it.” Sam spread his legs in invitation as Dean climbed back on the bed. That wasn’t a lie, Sam still felt stretched wide open, could still feel Dean's come deep inside him, making everything moist and slippery and easy. He held his arms out to his gorgeous brother, anxious for the full body contact. Every time Dean wasn’t in direct physical contact with Sam’s skin he got skittish.  “Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

Dean had a funny look on his face. Sort of solemn. Sort of...scared? Sam’s pulse jacked as a whole flock of butterflies (Do butterflies flock? he wondered in some far off corner of his mind.) took up residence in his stomach. See?  Lack of physical contact and Dean was, indeed, freaking out again. “Dean, don't—” 

Dean pressed the lube into his brother’s hand. “Wasn’t thinking of _you_.”  So saying, he crawled past Sam to rest his arms on the back of the headboard, his perfect ass just inches from Sam’s face.

Sam scrambled up like _his_ ass was on fire. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Fuck. Was Dean serious? “Are you serious?” he asked, his gaze searching out his brother’s in the cracked mirror over the bed. 

“Serious as sin,” Dean answered, eyes locking with Sam’s. Green and hazel clashed. The tension in the room was definitely back.  It throbbed in the air between them. “You want me, Sammy?” Dean whispered. He must have read Sam’s answer on his astonished face because Dean smiled, slow and sweet and painfully sexy. 

“Then come and get me...” 

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Dean watched his brother’s cheeks flush up red. After one long, incredulous second, Sam ducked his head and attempted to wrestle open the lube’s simple flip-top lid, which resulted in him promptly dropping it. 

And then didn’t the damn thing roll off the bed again. 

“Fuck meee,” Sam whined. He went to pat Dean’s flank – Was that meant as reassurance? – but his hand was trembling so bad it ended up being more of a slap than a caress. “Hang on, k?” he whispered, scooting off the mattress. “Just hang on.”

Dean snorted. “Just _hurry up_. Before I change my mind.” 

“I can’t reach—don’t you dare!—stupid _thing_ —” 

“Oh. Nice,” Dean said. 

“Shaddup. Not you,” Sam replied. “Love you. It’s this…this stupid _…_ ungh… _fucking lube!”_ It sounded like he was directly underneath the bed now. That motion lotion must have really hauled it for freedom. Dean snorted again and rocked his forehead against the cool, pitted surface of the mirror. This should have been the epitome of funny, but somehow Dean wasn’t laughing.

“Aha!” Sam cried, popping up like a jack-in-the-box, lube held high in one upraised fist, a big-ass grin on his face.

Dean’s heartstrings twanged. He loved this dufus so friggin’ _much_ … Honestly? It was just too hard to keep saying no to him. Hell, it went against every instinct Dean had. And, hey, since truth or dare was the apparent theme of the evening, why not just go ahead and admit that while Sam had been watching him all these years, Dean had been watching his brother right back. Admit that he’d often gotten hard for no damn reason _at all_ except that Sam was near. 

Near and so _very_ fine…

Sam’s eyes flicked back and forth between Dean’s. The smile slipped off his face. Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine the war of emo-bullshit on his own face. If only Sam would just _do it_ already. Dean couldn’t think whenever Sam’s perfect body was pressed against him, it became all about lust and love and have-to-have… 

“Look, are you sure about this?” Sam asked, sitting on the edge of the bed instead of just launching himself at his naked and willing brother, which was what Dean had fully been expecting. “I don’t want you to—” 

“I’m sure,” Dean interrupted, exasperation making his voice rough. “Fuck’s sake, Sam, c’mere!” He gave his ass a little shimmy and had the pleasure of seeing Sam make an honest-to-goodness attempt to swallow his own tongue. 

There was the delayed launch. 

Sam yanked Dean hard against him, so hard that Dean fell half into his brother’s lap. Which kind of made his posterior presentation a wash, but what the heck? At least Sam was back where Dean needed him to be. Dean smoothed his hands over his brother’s shoulders and up into his hair. Hair he did secretly yearn to pet and smooth and play with. All the time. 

“God, I love you,” Sam moaned, dropping open-mouthed kisses up the column of Dean’s throat.

“Yeah.” Dean smiled and pressed his own quick kiss to his brother’s temple. “I caught that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a flicker of pain cross his brother’s features. “Yeah,” Sam sighed in agreement. He ducked his head so that his lips were caressing Dean’s collarbone. “I guess you would have. I’ve been throwing it pretty hard.” 

Dean’s smile flipped into a frown. He hadn’t meant – Sam _knew_ Dean loved him – what the hell did the kid want from – Christ! Couldn’t they just screw already? Dean was terrible with this emotional crap and Sam knew it! 

Sam sighed again, making Dean feel like utter shit, but then he lifted his head to give his brother a slow, sultry smile and Dean switched gears from angst to lust so fast that he ended up attempting his own version of the infamous Winchester tongue swallow. 

Jesus, his baby brother was sexy. Dean felt like the world’s biggest idiot that he’d never allowed himself to truly _see_ that before. What could he say? He was obviously beyond stupid. “So, uh,” he rasped, making a grab for the bottle of lube. “We doin’ this, or what?” Of course, being such a very _thorough_ spaz, he missed the lube by a good four inches and ended up with his brother’s dick in his grippy little fingers.

“Woah,” Sam said on a gasp. “Gentle, cowboy.” 

Dean looked down, shocked, at his possessed hand and forced himself to ease up.

“Mmm,” Sam hummed. “Better.” His impressive length slipped through the looser fist his brother’s fingers had made. “Damn straight we’re doing this,” he belatedly answered. He tucked the lube away safe under a pillow before his own palm came over Dean’s so that they could stroke his shaft together. “Lie down.” Sam’s voice took on a sly note. “I’m gonna make you feel soooo good, sweetheart,” he said, before sealing their lips together.

Hey!! Sam stole that line. It had been Dean’s de facto pantie remover when he’d been in his late teens – oddly effective on naïve young things, despite the corniness. Or maybe because of… whatever... Sam saying it now meant that his little brother had been _way_ closer to Dean’s action than Dean had ever even known. Close enough to touch… Question was: why did that knowledge make Dean so insanely hot? Just how long _had_ he been lusting after his brother? Jesus, what kind of a sick fuck _was_ he? 

“It’s supposed to be easier – the first time – if I’m facing away,” Dean muttered into Sam’s persuasive mouth, letting his brother guide him down to the mattress anyway because, as they both knew, whatever Sammy wanted, Sammy got. 

“Mmmmm,” Sam purred again. He sounded like a great big cat when he made that noise. A panther. Yeah. Dean could totally see Sam as a sleek, black panther. Those tilted eyes of his were—“We’ll get there,” Sam said, interrupting his brother’s off-tangent musings. “We’ve got all night.” He rubbed his face against Dean’s chest, inhaling his brother’s scent, like a …

Well, like a cat. 

Stupid cat analogy, stuck in his head. And here Dean had thought the drugs were wearing off. His eyes skipped left to the glowing red numbers on the cheap digital clock beside them. 3:19 a.m. Nope. Not yet. Had a ways to go yet. May as well enjoy the ride, right? “Night’s over, Sammy,” he noted, giving himself a free pass to explore Sam’s fantastic body for just a little while longer. “But why don’t we take the morning, t—Dude!” 

Sam had caught Dean’s right hand and rudely dragged it from its explorations. He held Dean’s elbow up at a ninety degree angle, away from his side. And the bugger was strong! Dean couldn’t bring his arm back down. Not unless he got serious about it and tried to hurt his brother. Something he had no intention of doing. 

“ _Dude_ ,” Sam copycatted, right before doing it again.

What the…

Oh…

Ohhhh! 

“That’s, umm, kind of gross,” Dean said, even as his toes fucking _curled_ at the sensation. 

Sam’s tongue delved into his brother’s armpit again. “Not gross,” he murmured. “You’re clean. Washed you myself.” His nose pressed even further into the musky hollow as he lapped at the damp, soft hair. Sam groaned. “You smell so good, Dean,” he said, rolling his cock into Dean’s thigh. “ _Always_ wanted to do this.” He lick-bit-licked his way across Dean’s chest, pausing for a long moment at each of his brother’s nipples before angling his chin towards Dean’s other pit. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean sighed. His calf traveled up the back of Sam’s thigh, bringing him in as close as possible. “You really are kinky, huh?”

Sam didn’t have to lift Dean’s arm up this time. As soon as he got there, Dean did it for him. Sam chuckled and flicked his tongue in a teasing circle around the narrow patch of hair, avoiding the spear-like tongue thrust Dean was desperate to feel again. “If you think _this_ is gross and kinky,” he pulled back to say, smiling up at Dean through the spiky strands of his sodden bangs. “You’re probably gonna have some serious issues with the rest of my plans.” 

Those mocking dimples provoked Dean into grabbing the back of his brother’s head and shoving his face right on in there. Heh. Just like old times. 

Sam’s strong, hot tongue came out to play. 

Okay, not _quite_ like old times. Dean’s neck arched at the bizarre, but intensely erotic feeling of Sam tongue fucking his armpit. “Nope. No issues here,” he gasped. Holy crap! What other hot spots did he have that he’d had no friggin’ clue about?

***

Sam did his best not to hump against Dean’s leg like a goddamn dog. He had always wanted to do this. Nothing smelled as good as his big brother did – Sam made a sadly regular habit of stealing Dean’s clothes just to have suitable jack-off material. So he’d snuck in a lick. (And then another, ‘cause just like chips, one wasn’t near enough.) He’d certainly never expected his brother to _get off_ on it. What other hot spots did Dean have that Sam didn’t know about? 

Sam moved down a bit and tickled his tongue over Dean’s ribs. 

Dean barked a laugh and immediately slipped his hand between Sam’s mouth and his skin. 

Hmm, not really the effect Sam had been going for, but lookie here, another unexplored area to play with. Sam switched his attention to Dean’s fingers, licking up and down each phallus shaped digit. Dean’s hand twitched, started to bend inward, but then relaxed. So far so good... 

Sam lifted himself up on one elbow, as he did so he guided Dean’s index and middle fingers into his mouth. When he caught Dean’s gaze he grinned around his mouthful and waggled his eyebrows.

Dean’s own smile was indulgent. “Havin’ fun there, baby boy?”

“Mmm, hmm,” was all Sam could reply, seeing as how his tongue was busy teasing the sensitive webbing between his brother’s fingers. 

When he deep throated the pair, sucking hard, Dean’s nostrils flared. “Jesus,” he moaned, hips twitching. “Who’s the cocktease again?”

The lewd sound as Sam pulled the fingers free made them both shudder. “Guess that’d be me,” he admitted. A teasing smile curved his lips as he turned his brother’s hand over and swirled his tongue into the palm. 

Dean cupped Sam’s face. “I do love you, you know,” he whispered. 

Sam leaned into the caress. “I know,” he said, just as quiet. 

“It’s just—” 

Sam put his own fingers against his brother’s lips. “Shut up now, Dean.” His teeth skimmed the meaty pad of Dean’s thumb before he shifted forward to run his tongue up his brother’s inner arm. When he got to the crease of his elbow, Dean’s stomach muscles spasmed. 

Bingo. 

Sam smirked and proceeded to suck a big, nasty hicky into the satin-smooth skin. Dean’s hips rolled but Sam moved sideways, denying his brother anything to thrust against. 

“Sam,” Dean groaned. His fists clenched in Sam’s hair, attempting to haul the younger man up to his mouth. Sam nixed that plan by simply pushing his brother’s hands down flat against the mattress. And then holding them there. 

This time Dean’s whole body spasmed. “Fuck, Sam,” he gasped as Sam’s meandering mouth finally made it up to his own. “You’re—”

“Shhhh,” Sam admonished. His tongue flickered across his brother’s upper lip. 

Dean craned his neck, trying to turn it into a proper kiss. He had no real leverage, though, since Sam still held his hands trapped down by his hips. Sam arched his own neck so that Dean couldn’t quite reach him. The desperate little sound Dean let slip had chills chasing across Sam’s skin, despite the room’s sweltering heat. He flicked his tongue across his brother’s lower lip next, dipping inside for just one brief, tantalizing second before darting away again.

“Fuck!” Dean mumbled again, letting his head fall back down. The reproachful glare he tried to levy at his younger brother was a wasted effort. Sam could see how much this was turning Dean on. His cheeks were rosy, his lips were swollen to twice their normal size – so sexy – and his eyes were damn near black with lust.

“ _Sam_ —” Dean started yet again. Sam smiled at the strain underlying just that one word. He didn’t let the man finish. Instead, he let go of Dean’s left wrist to grab his chin and yank it hard to the side.

“Dean,” he breathed, right above his brother’s ear. “Seriously.” He skated his sharp teeth all around the outer edge before nipping at his earlobe. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Every word was punctuated by another bite. Each harder than the last. Sam half expected Dean to fight back, now that one of his hands was free. Sam would give in, of course. Back off. He held no delusion that he could keep his brother down if Dean didn’t really want to be there. 

Instead of resisting, Dean’s forearm tightened around Sam’s nape, holding him exactly where he was. He slid his leg out from between Sam’s own, so that Sam dropped between his thighs, and then Dean spread nice and wide, just like he’d said he would. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured in that sexed-out, dark-velvet tone of his that just about made Sam swoon every time he heard it. “Don’t stop.” The silky-smooth skin of his inner thighs glided up Sam’s hips to cinch his narrow waist. Sam dropped his head and tried to remember how to breathe.

… 

A half second later, Dean kicked Sam’s ass with the heel of his foot. “I said _don’t_ stop,” he bitched, indignation taking over for velvet.

Sam had to laugh. Dean didn’t take instruction very well. But really, if he was any _better_ at it, Sam probably wouldn’t even be able to function by this point. Having power over his older brother was heady, heady stuff at the best of times. Being in a _sexually_ dominant position, no matter how specious that position was… Let’s just say, if he hadn’t already come twice Sam would’ve been down for the count as soon the word ‘baby’ had tripped off his brother’s agile pink tongue.

“And now you’re laughing at me,” Dean huffed. His constraining arm fell away. “Awesome.”

Sam let go of Dean’s other hand to get a good grip on his ass cheek. He rocked against his brother and was rewarded a soft moan and the weight of Dean’s arm returning to his shoulders. “And you’re _still_ talking,” he noted as he suckled Dean’s now very red earlobe between his teeth. “Shocking,” he mumbled around it.

Dean slapped him on the back of the head. “Well, I’d stop _talking_ if you’d start _fu_ —f—ahhh…” 

Sam’s tongue slithering into his ear _finally_ made the guy shut up. Sam tongue-fucked his brother’s ear again – wet, lightning-fast strokes. Dean did some rocking of his own. Their cocks slipped together once, twice, but then Dean did this wriggly hip-twist thing and suddenly Sam was riding the crease of his brother’s ass. 

All it would take was one good…

No, damn it. He was going to do this right. Take his time. He grabbed Dean’s hips.

“Sam,” Dean gasped, full-on squirming against his brother’s hold. His voice was beyond throaty, “I thought you said I _didn’t_ have to beg.”

“You don’t,” Sam said, kissing his way back to his brother’s mouth. Dean latched onto his tongue like a man possessed. So needy. So perfect. It took everything Sam had to keep his brother pinned down, but he didn’t let that stop him from thoroughly ravaging the man’s mouth. “Wouldn’t matter even if you did,” he panted down at his lust-strung sibling long enough later that both men quivered with the fatigue of fighting against each other. “My turn. My time-table.”

Dean cocked his head. His body fell still. Sam watched the challenge blaze in Dean’s eyes and realized – two seconds too late – that he’d made a mistake. 

“Is that so?” Dean purred. 

TBC

 


End file.
